


Inconsolable

by DivineMissP



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22812523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineMissP/pseuds/DivineMissP
Summary: Everything is going swimmingly until an incident on the job changes everything for Jack and Phryne...
Relationships: Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 102





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! It's been a while...  
> So, after I wrote Impact (which is published over on FanFiction) way back at the end of 2014, I decided I needed to write a 'Jack gets hurt' story as that had been a 'Phryne gets hurt' story.  
> After Season 2 finished its first run on TV this was the story I wrote, back when no-one even knew if there would be a Season 3, let alone a movie!  
> I've been thinking about publishing it for soooooooo long, and now that I'm booked to see Crypt of Tears on Saturday, I knew I just had to do it or I never will (I looked back at the history and since 2016 I have only deleted 6 words from the story, so it's time to stop messing around and just press the button!)  
> Given the time that has elapsed and some of the things that happened in S3, please just imagine you're in a time after S2 when we didn't know Jack's exact feelings on 'men in cravats', etc.  
> It's romantic, angsty, and silly at times... enjoy :)

Phryne Fisher had not been a stranger to emotional pain. 

The struggle of her poverty-stricken childhood. 

The loss (for which she would always blame herself) of her younger sister. 

The cruelty of her newfound peers, upon her father’s inheritance of a fortune of which he was undeserving. 

The horror of a Great War that had left her feeling stained down to her very bones, and aged beyond her years. 

The shame of her naivety in allowing another human being to treat her no better than a piece of property. 

But through all of these circumstances, and in part because of them, she had found the strength to not only endure, but to sparkle so brightly that others flocked to bask in her brilliance. 

Every experience was a stone that she had turned this way and that, and analysed, and carved so that it fit neatly amongst its fellows, an essential part of the shining castle she had built of herself. 

But never before had she experienced this pain that she felt would surely tear her apart, inflicted by the man she loved with every fibre of her being. 

He could not have hurt her more deeply had he actually cut her open and taken her heart from her chest; and yet, given the chance, she could not say that the ecstasy that had gone before could ever be traded for relief from her current anguish. Yes, if she were given her time again, undoubtedly she would choose to walk the same path with him. 

Now, for the first time in her life, she allowed herself to succumb to the type of inconsolable grief of which she had only ever read, for she truly did not know how she would go on from here. 

The worst of it was that the darling man had not the faintest idea of what he had done; and therein lay the problem. 


	2. Chapter 2

Jack Robinson stared at the woman beside him in disbelief; although why he was surprised was beyond him.

She had turned to look at him, slightly away from the store assistant, so that her face was hidden by the brim of her cloche, and now she was giving him *that* look. The ‘hurry up and catch up, and do play along’ look.

He blinked slowly, swallowed, and turned to the assistant. “I’m sorry, I was… miles away…” and he nodded at him in a manner that urged the man to repeat his question.

The look he received in return was the long-suffering expression of a man who had resigned himself to assisting these jumped-up city-goers for as long as it took, as they had the appearance (or at least the woman did) of those who spend without regard for cost. He repeated what he had said.

“Do you ride as often as your wife?”

Jack had heard the question the first time, and although he had bought himself some time, he was still attempting to formulate an answer.

“Uh… well, no…”

What sort of a bloody fool game was she playing now? His wife? Surely the man was wondering how a poor sap like Jack had wound up as the husband of the glamorous creature next to him. To make matters worse, Jack had not been on a horse since old Mr Jenkins down the road had had that old nag in his back paddock, when he was fifteen. And he had certainly never had to saddle a horse for himself. Wouldn’t know how to fit a bridle if his life depended on it.

“… in general… I find that I don’t have the time.”

The assistant nodded his head in understanding, as Phryne looped her right arm through Jack’s left, which remained steadfastly in his coat pocket, and used her left hand to rub lovingly at her ‘husband’s’ chest. “Really, darling, you do work too hard…” She gave the assistant a conspiratorial look. “He does work *terribly* hard…” She lowered her voice, as if imparting something secretive. “Private security…” and nodded, to which the man could only, once again, nod his own understanding.

Her glance flicked back to Jack, as her voice rose to normal level. “The horses are feeling terribly neglected, I’m sure… You really must find the time to *enjoy* yourself…”

Then, with a perfectly innocent smile, she said “After all, what could be more thrilling than an afternoon spent with a hot-blooded stallion clamped between your thighs!”

As the assistant suddenly began to choke on nothing but air, Jack closed his eyes. Never mind the murder they were here to investigate – *he* was going to kill *her*.

As the assistant coughed, and ‘his wife’ hovered over the man with concern, Jack allowed himself a small moment to drift away…… Phryne was a modern woman, perhaps she rode in trousers? That might be a sight worth seeing… if not for her equestrian skill, then undoubtedly for the tight pull of the fabric down around her buttocks…

He cleared his throat. In truth, perhaps not. In general she wore trousers as a statement of fashion, and what could be more fashionable than some pretty material fluttering around her as she rode? But if she rode as did a man, it could not be done in a dress – no matter what the length it would pull up to reveal an immoral length of leg to be shown in public, even for a woman such as her. Split skirts then; practically trousers anyway – at least he assumed so, having only read about the existence of such an article of clothing…

The assistant finally recovered enough to excuse himself for a glass of water… and to assure himself that the lady could not possibly have meant anything by her words other than exactly what she had said. After all, she had spoken with such naivety… and the husband had simply looked on with dry amusement…

‘The husband’ was now watching on as ‘his wife’ dug around in her handbag for a moment… said “Ah hah!”… removed her gloves… and slipped a slim, gold band over her finger.

Again, he looked at her in disbelief. “A wedding band, Miss Fisher? You just *happened* to have one in your handbag for such an occasion?”

She gave him a withering look. “As it happens, that is exactly so… I have found that, sometimes, the appearance of marriage can be a useful one…” The look changed, and he could have sworn that he saw hurt flicker across her features. “Why?... Don’t you want to be my husband?” She pouted, and looked down at the floor before looking back up at him, and suddenly he felt that, although it wasn’t a real question, it was a serious one, nonetheless.

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes at her, but in an apologetic sort of way. “Of course not… No… Yes!... I mean, I’m *not* saying that I *wouldn’t* want to be your husband…” He groaned internally, suddenly knowing how Collins felt – so many missteps in one breath, and things were only getting worse by the second. “*Of course* I would want to be your husband… That is… if you decided that you *wanted* a husband… But why would you?... And anyway, what man *wouldn’t* want to be your husband?”

Yes, he had entirely lost the plot, and he noticed that he was gesticulating wildly. In his nervousness he brought one hand to his mouth and bit down on one of his fingers (but at least that stopped him from talking), and raked the other back over his hair, before shoving both back into his pockets.

Phryne was watching him with a raised eyebrow, and he expected some biting remark in return, some scathing little comment that would deflect attention from her discomfort over his idiocy; instead she was looking at him in that gentle manner that always surprised him. She looked to the floor briefly, said “You’d be surprised, Inspector…”, bit her lip, then turned away from him with a resigned smile.

To what question had that been an answer? Jack had no idea what to think… and although he spent the better part of half an hour mulling it over, as Phryne shopped, and mined the assistant for gossip that was pertinent to their investigation, he was no closer to any answers. Eventually he had had enough, and stepped outside ‘for a cigarette’, leaving her to end her enquiry as she chose; when she stepped out to meet him she was bubbling with excitement, having finally extracted some very useful information… and they were off, chasing down the lead.

When it had become apparent that they would not have the opportunity to corner their suspect until the following morning, Phryne had insisted on being the one to organise accommodations, and he had known better than to try to argue with her. He was resigned, if a little unnerved, to let her make whatever arrangements she would be comfortable with, and they would continue their little charade for the time being. It was unseemly enough that the two of them were travelling alone in her car; it would have been unthinkable to turn up to a hotel together, and Jack simply hadn’t the energy to bicker with her over the finding of separate lodgings close to each other, then dinner arrangements, then morning arrangements… He would rather sleep on the floor.

He had watched on with feigned boredom as she loudly proclaimed to the Manager of her chosen establishment that they had only meant to pass through Geelong on their way back to Melbourne from the Clifton Springs Hotel… after all, why would they have needed to come into the town when the hotel resort had had everything they needed?… but she had spotted a very nice saddle in a store window, and in the end they had spent far too long shopping; evidenced by the very same saddle, and other assorted packages, that now sat proudly in the Hispano’s back seat. Besides – evening would set in far too quickly, and kangaroos did terrible things to one’s coachwork… They *could* have gone back to the Clifton Springs and requested to stay another night – after all, it was the winter season – however she had managed to convince her husband to be *adventurous* and try out one of the hotels that the sprawling town had to offer…

The Manager took all of this in with wide eyes, before presenting options for the lady’s consideration, and then directing them into the Lounge for refreshment whilst their belongings (saddle and all) where whisked upstairs.

Jack was relieved beyond belief when their ‘room’ turned out to be ‘rooms’; he had fully expected to have to spend an awkward night occupying the same small space as Phryne, but she had surprised him and requested two adjoining rooms with an internal door between them. They were a mirror image of each other – her fireplace backing directly onto his – and contained a bed and nightstand, dressing table and stool, a small table and chair tucked beneath the window, a bath, and a bowl and mirror necessary for shaving; communal toilets were located at the end of the hallway on each floor of the hotel.

The moment the door closed behind the hotel Manager, Phryne launched herself onto one of the beds, and ‘hopped’ across it on her knees.

“What on earth are you doing?”

She batted her eyelashes at him “Just checking…” She continued to look at him, and rocked back and forth, moving her weight suggestively between each leg for a moment. “No-one likes squeaky springs…”

He cleared his throat and turned to disappear through the internal door, to hear her call after him “Would you like me to check yours?”

He closed his eyes – she had been positively demure for most of the afternoon since ‘the stallion incident’ – now it seemed that her usual form was returning. “No thank you… I’m sure it will be perfectly satisfactory, Miss Fisher.”

Soon after, she had advised him that she must dress for dinner, had asked him whether he’d like to watch, then pouted at him as he’d retrieved his own possessions and pulled the internal door closed behind him.

A few moments later he heard water running in the bath, and went to the window to soak up the view… and to try *not* to think of Phryne stepping out of that purple skirt she was wearing… unbuttoning that filmy, patterned blouse… sliding her pale stockings down her shapely calves… checking the water temperature as she stood there in the silky lingerie that he could only imagine…

Who was he kidding? These days he was more than happy to indulge himself in such fantasy; he was a single man, she was a *very* desirable woman, and the frisson that existed between them became more delicious by the day. He had no idea where it would take them, but he had decided, some time ago, that it was far too late to try swimming upstream; instead he would lazily drift wherever the current took him. He would either drown, or end up in paradise. Possibly both.

He heard that strange reverberation of human skin sliding on enamel – most likely her feet in the curved bottom of the bathtub. So… right now she was probably slipping slowly into the warm water with closed eyes and a contented smile on her face… running the flannel along her legs as she rested each foot on the edge of the bath in turn… soaping her arms… her breasts… using her fingers to–

Jack stopped that train of thought abruptly, and turned on the tap to his own bath so that he could splash cooling water on his face. No – that was not going to be enough. He hastily took off his shirt, unbuttoned the top of his well-worn union suit and pulled it from his shoulders so that it hung back and down towards his knees, then liberally washed his upper half – and yes, the cooling effect of the flannel might have ventured briefly below the waistband of his trousers.

He quickly re-dressed, splashed the smallest amount of refreshing aftershave along his jawline, and left the room to use the toilet before they went down to dinner.

When he returned to his room, the internal door was slightly ajar, and he knocked gently, heard Phryne say “Come in, Jack”, and entered to find her dressed and waiting.

Jack wasn’t silly – he had worked away from Melbourne city many times and knew that road trips nearly always took longer than planned, cars broke down (possibly even the immaculate Hispano), and the best laid investigative plans oft went astray – thus he was equipped with a small overnight case containing pyjamas, the second pair of trousers of the suit he was currently wearing, a fresh shirt, undergarments and socks, and his shaving and other toilette essentials. With the comb that always resided in his pocket, what more could he need?

Apparently, he was underprepared. Phryne was standing before him looking for all the world as if she’d had hours to prepare and they were having a night on the town. He could not help his eyes travelling her length and taking in the indigo dress that draped in all the right places, with its intricate black beading at neckline, cuffs and hem; black stockings, delicate shoes, and beaded bag to match; the dark fur slung elegantly across her freckled shoulders; and the abstract hair ornament that set the look off just-so.

Her lips pulled back into an amused grimace as she returned his gaze, and he couldn’t help but defend himself, despite her not having voiced her thoughts.

“I’m not in the habit of taking a dinner suit with me everywhere I go!” He looked at her in exasperation, and her mouth quirked.

“More fool you, Inspector…” Her grin widened, and she regarded him for a long moment. “Well, we’ll just have to work with what we have…” She turned to rummage in the trunk that had formerly been strapped to the back of the Hispano. “Ah hah!” She turned back to him, holding what appeared to be one of her silk scarves. “We’re practically in the countryside, so I’m sure that things will be a little more relaxed here… Well… Perhaps… Hopefully…”

Without any further warning, she pushed him so that he fell to sit on her bed, stepped directly between his knees, and lifted his collar. It was very much like that time in his office, but far more dangerous, and they were far less likely to be disturbed. He had grown far bolder in their relationship since then, and he watched her fingers working at his tie for only a moment, before tilting his head to scrutinise her face; and if he noticed that her fingers faltered in their movements, that she tried steadfastly not to return his gaze, and bit down on the inside of her lip, who was he to make comment?

As she worked to undo his top button her knuckles brushed under his chin, then her fingertips grazed his Adam’s apple; and he swallowed. As he did, she shifted between his legs, and it was surely only a gentlemanly instinct that caused his hands to press lightly at the sides of her thighs to steady her.

As her arms drew the scarf about his neck he was enveloped by her warm perfume, and he did not bother to hide his deep intake of breath; her red lips parted then, and he would have sworn that was a blush spreading across her cheeks, but still she did not meet his eyes. Instead, she used her tried-and-true method of distraction, and tutted “Really, you need a wider collar for this sort of thing, but if we leave that button undone… and if I make it a little narrower than usual…” she pulled the silk from side-to-side a couple of times, “…hopefully no-one will notice… There! A perfectly serviceable cravat!”

Her sparkling eyes finally met his, and she immediately reached for his hands, and drew him to stand; before directing him to a mirror, and moving to collect her discarded fur and handbag.

He had to admit that she had worked wonders with her scarf, and although it might not bear too close an inspection, it would certainly serve its purpose in the dining room downstairs. Still, it was beyond his usual bounds of comfort…

Phryne’s psychic instinct kicked in at that moment, and she reached a soothing hand to his upper arm. “When you’re as rich as we are, you can wear whatever you like to dinner! Who’s going to question it?” She grinned, and looped her arm through his. “Come along, darling, I’m famished!”

Once they had taken their seats for dinner, the scarf-cravat was forgotten as they ate their way through potato soup, a lamb grill, and apple pie with custard; not that either of them paid much attention to what they were eating.

They had been seated at a corner table, at right angles to each other, and it did not escape Jack’s notice that Phryne inched her chair just a little to the right as she settled into it, bringing her knee into contact with his upper calf.

Whenever the wait-staff appeared at their table, she took the opportunity to rest her hand lightly on that of her ‘husband’; but when it was not thus occupied, or in holding her cutlery, her fingers or thumb were rubbing slow circles on her glass.

Her eyes were wide and lustrous in the light of the wall lamp above them, and she smiled flirtatiously as she sipped her drink. Jack was well aware that he had her complete and undivided attention; in much the same way as a grazing gazelle might have a lion’s. For once, though, he was not going to let it bother him; choosing instead to bask in her open appreciation – but that didn’t mean that his pulse wasn’t racing as he shifted his left foot backwards, bringing the back of his calf and the side of hers into full contact.

She was the one to break it, and he thought perhaps he had been the one to take their game too far, but as she returned to her seat from the powder room she resumed her previous position; and as Jack addressed a waiter, her right hand somehow found its way to his knee.

By the time their meal had concluded, Jack was seriously considering depositing her in her room, and taking himself on a brisk walk in the cold night air – several miles ought to do it. Once she was inside, however, he hesitated just a moment too long as she threw her fur onto the bed, and before he knew it she was entreating him to bring the chair from his room to her table – and somehow she was holding a bottle of whisky and two tumblers– “I packed them in my trunk, just in case!”

When he returned with the chair, she was hoisting the window up in its sash, just a few inches – it was rather warm in the rooms, what with the heat of the fire…

She let him do the honours and pour; then he hesitated. They rarely did this until a case was over, so “What shall we drink to?”

Mistake.

“I know…” She looked at him slyly as he lifted his glass to meet hers. “Stallions…”

He surprised himself by chuckling, rather than choking, and he tilted his head in acknowledgement as their glasses clinked.

They sipped slowly, savouring the whisky and the atmosphere, but when Phryne switched her glass into her left hand in order to pour a top-up, Jack’s attention was caught by the gold band on her finger. Funny how he hadn’t noticed it until now…

He inclined his head towards her hand, and gave her a wry smile. “You know, you can take that off now, Miss Fisher… You are no longer bound to me – at least until morning…”

“Oh…” Was that regret her saw in her eyes? “Yes… I suppose that you’re right…”

The mood of the room had suddenly altered, and her chair made a harsh sound on the floor as she pushed it back and jumped up, moving away to sit on the edge of her bed with her back to him.

He wasn’t quite sure *what* he had said wrong, or indeed *why* it was wrong, but as she busied herself with twisting the ring on her finger, then removing it entirely, his brain stumbled over what he could say to make it right. Did this sudden change in her hark back to what he had said this afternoon, in the store?

She placed the ring very slowly next to the lamp beside her bed.

“Phryne…”

Her hand shot out and she picked it up again, then moved to a small, lockable case that sat there on the nightstand.

“This afternoon…”

She fumbled with the key and cursed under her breath, finally opening the lid, letting the ring fall inside, then locking it decisively. She didn’t turn back to him, so he rose, and moved around the bed to where she was worrying the embroidery on the quilt.

He sat, with her hand between them, and tried to find some words that wouldn’t make the situation even worse.

She looked up at him, suddenly, and he was alarmed to see that hers eyes were suspiciously liquid. “It’s alright, Jack…” Her hand moved to curl her fingers between his thumb and forefinger. “You didn’t say anything wrong… It’s my fault that the tiger I woke turned and bit me…”

Jack’s confusion was increasing by the second.

In one swift movement Phryne closed her eyes and tilted her head up, nose in the air, with a quick shake of her head that caused her cap of hair to sway. She gave a slightly grim laugh. “I’m a big girl… I’m not sure why I let it bother me today…”

Jack waited.

“When you said…” she paraphrased his words “’what man wouldn’t want me?’... and I said ‘you’d be surprised’… I wasn’t being facetious…”

She gave him a long, serious look, before returning her attention down to her hand, where it rested on his. “*Yes*, there are plenty of men who would want to marry me for my fortune or my social standing… or simply as a bauble to be trotted out to company…”

Jack made a noise of denial in his throat, but she continued.

“*Some* men might even fool themselves into thinking that my intellect and independent nature were good things… but it would only be a matter of time until they were not.”

She lifted her eyes to his again, and now they were serious, but soft, and, dare he believe it, yearning.

“If you remove money, sex, and influence… it would be a very rare man, indeed, who would consider every aspect of my character… and choose me, *for myself*, for life…”

Phryne watched as Jack took in her words with wide, sad eyes. Darling Jack, who had so far managed to navigate around every barrier she had constructed. Lately, he had found his way so close to her, that it was becoming harder to distinguish where ‘Phryne’ ended and ‘Jack’ began. She had never intended it to be that way; she had realised from the very beginning that he was not a man to play with, that although he could brave a little harmless flirtation, and she must treat his battered soul with more reverence than she usually cared to muster – and perhaps that was why it had happened. Somehow they had found a way to fit their jagged edges together and built something strong and wonderful.

She loved him. Yes she did. She had recently acknowledged it to herself, and it was thrilling, and terrifying, and left her feeling vulnerable in his presence. *That* was why she had been caught unawares this afternoon, when she had made a wrong move in her own game. His clumsy words had hit a nerve that she hadn’t realised was even there – why should it concern Phryne Fisher whether or not a man would have her as his wife? After all, it was utterly irrelevant if she didn’t want a husband…

As he had spoken her emotions had tumbled and reflected inside her like a kaleidoscope, coalescing into a single bright thought that had hung for a moment, before it fell away, and she had returned her attentions to the situation at hand. Poor Jack; it was a rare thing to see him so flustered. When he had finished that whole husband/wife spiel and bitten down on his finger, she had thought it absolutely adorable; then he had unknowingly mussed his hair, and she had felt like launching herself into his arms there and then.

Instead, she had inadvertently revealed her turmoil, before turning away, and suddenly taking great interest in a pair of riding boots, just as the shop assistant had returned. The Honourable Phryne Fisher *did not* let a thing like her own emotions get in the way of her investigations.

Now Jack’s hand had closed, very gently, around her fingers, and his eyes were darting between hers. They were dark and serious, but all the love she felt for him seemed to be reflected back at her, as he turned his body to face her.

“Phryne…” His voice was husky with emotion, and he briefly squeezed the fingers that he held. “You *must know*… that *I* would cherish you… that if it were what you *wanted*… and if you could ever settle for a policeman – from Richmond… that I *wouldn’t hesitate* to ask you for your hand…”

She stared at him for a long moment, before her mouth opened of its own accord.

“Then perhaps you should…”

Had she really spoken those words? The expression on his face told her that she had.

“Ask me… Ask me now before either of us loses our nerves…” She jiggled his hand to wake him from his stupor. “In the cold light of day I will remember every reason I’ve ever found not to make that sort of commitment…”

He latched onto that comment. “Then what is to stop you from saying ‘yes’ now, and changing your mind tomorrow, or a week from now, a month from now?”

“If you wait, I may never give you this chance again…” she implored him, “but if you ask me now, and I give you my answer… darling, I *will not* renege… I will find my happiness in the choice I have made… You are not a man to be toyed with… You are not a man to be settled for… You are the best man I have ever met… and you are *the only* man who might extract such a promise from me… You *know* me, and you know that when I set my mind to do something, I will give it my all.”

Both of her hands were clasping Jack’s now, and her voice was almost a whisper, as she pleaded with him again, “Ask me…”

Jack was torn, and he gazed searchingly at her as his heart and mind tried to come to some agreement. What if he asked her now, and when it came to that final moment, she rejected him? Or if she said yes, did she really know that she would not break their betrothal later?... But she was right; she may never give him this opportunity again… To hell with it – he would deal with the consequences as and when they arose, be it a minute from now, or a year from now.

He looked down at their joined hands, and took a calming breath; then slid off the edge of the bed, and down onto one knee before her. Her small fingers began to tremble in his, and he wrapped both of his hands around hers, as their eyes locked, and he took another breath.

“Phryne…” Now his was the voice that was thick with emotion. “I would be… honoured… to be your husband… if you will have me?”

Oh, how she loved this man. Even at such a moment he was not thinking of possessing her… Not asking her to *be his*, but instead turning his words so that *she* might choose *him*; in such a way he had made it clear that he chose to love her for exactly what she was.

She smiled a teary, crooked smile at the man whom she knew, right here in this moment, she wanted to share her life with. “Yes…”

As relief and amazement spread across Jack’s features, her face split into a grin and she repeated it firmly, “Yes!”, then laughed and jumped to her feet. “YES!” she threw her arms in the air, like a performer about to take a bow, and began to bounce on the balls of her feet, as Jack came to his senses and rose. As he caught her about the waist, she smiled blissfully at him, and wound her arms around his neck and left shoulder.

The smile turned cheeky as she gazed up at him in wonder. “Well, Inspector, I do believe that you ought to kiss me!”

“Miss Fisher, as always, I would be happy to oblige you…”

Her smile fell away, forgotten, as she became intently aware of his closeness – his arms tightening around her, his warmth, then his breath on her face as they gently bumped noses.

Her lips parted as his found her Cupid’s bow, then closed to meet his lower lip. Nothing existed but for the feel of his mouth on hers, the smell of him, and then the sound of her own fast breaths as she realised she was desperately holding his head to hers.

She released him momentarily, but he pulled back only far enough to caress her nose with his, sending the most delicious sensations coursing through her body, before his lips met hers once more. When they parted to allow his tongue to flick across the apex of her bow, any remaining coherent thoughts fled.

She teased him with her open mouth, and drew his questing tongue in to tangle with hers. She could not have said how many times they withdrew, only to tease each other again; nuzzling and sucking and pulling and exploring with hypersensitive tongues. She was not aware of her pounding heart, of her fingers tangling in his hair, of her breasts swelling against his chest – but she suddenly became very aware of the wet heat between her legs, and of his hard length pressing against her hip.

She did not remember them falling to the bed, but she realised that they were now in a precarious position; and she surprised herself by reigning in her lust, and regarding her fiancé (her fiancé!) with a soft and serious smile. “Don’t get *too* cosy, Inspector... You know I’m terribly impatient, so we shall have to be married as soon as possible… And if we’re not going to wait, then we may as well *wait*…” and she flicked a glance down to where her legs were tangled with his, just to be sure that he understood her meaning.

Jack huffed out a laugh, and lowered his forehead to the bed in frustration. “Miss Fisher…” he mumbled into her neck, “I do believe that you enjoy giving me grief.”

She laughed. “I certainly do…”; but then her thoughts were scattered by the wonderful thing that Jack’s mouth was doing to her neck, and it was some time later that she gathered her resolve, and sent him to his (cold) bath, and his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack gaped at her, incredulous.

Would he spend his whole life playing catch-up in her schemes?

Probably…

Did it really matter?

Not a whit.

They had requested that breakfast be brought to their rooms at seven o’clock on the dot, and it had materialised, as promised, as he was tying his shoe laces.

Last night, as she had pushed him through the internal door, they had agreed that they would breakfast in his room, as she would need more time to ready herself for the day ahead. He had been very pleased that they did not have to continue their charade in the public dining room, particularly as they now had the opportunity to gaze stupidly at each other across the table.

He had found himself feeling invigorated; and when she had decided to pretend that she had become immune to his heated glances, he had actually put down his teacup and launched himself at her. He had found that he very much enjoyed being playful with her, making her squeal and wriggle in his arms.

It was most unlike himself; but this was what she did to him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Could he help it, the way she was teasing him? Sitting there in that burgundy robe, sliding the sleeves up to reveal her delicate forearms, leaning this way and that to allow the peach silk of her pyjamas to peek through…

She had left the table as he was buttering himself another piece of toast; but although she had gone to dress, she had left the internal door open to torment him.

He hadn’t been able to see her, but he had heard her – her feet softly padding about the room, the swish of her robe being tossed onto the bed, the tinkle of cosmetic jars – and then her perfume had wafted in, and he had closed his eyes and indulged in the heady scent. It astonished him that, in due course, these things would be his to enjoy every day. ‘Well’, he chuckled to himself, ‘perhaps not every day…’ His shifts regularly required that he rise early, and no doubt he would often be out the door long before she lifted her head from the pillow.

‘Speaking of work…’ he had roused himself to clean his teeth and close his small case whilst she had called down to have their possessions removed to the car. Then they had given the rooms a once-over for anything left unpacked, she had pressed some shilling notes into his hand to allow her ‘husband’ to settle their account, and they had left to tail their suspect.

Thereon things had been remarkably easy – they had been nonchalantly strolling, arm-in-arm, past the laneway that bordered the suspect’s business premises, when they had seen him down the end, attempting to set fire to the very piece of evidence that they had been hoping to find. They had rushed upon him, and the man had crumpled under their interrogation, accompanying them meekly to the Geelong West police station, where Jack had produced his credentials. Phryne had not even alighted from the car, saying that she had things to do – although he could not imagine what – and telling him to make his way back to meet her at the Albert Coffee Palace, which she had spotted on the way there.

She had not been there when he had arrived later, so he had gone ahead and ordered for himself, and was just finishing up as she entered with her usual haste, located him, and dashed to avail herself of the facilities. She had dropped into the chair opposite him flushed, and breathy, and with the kind of smile on her face that always had him worried, and had brushed off his offer to order something for her; further heightening his suspicions.

She had helped herself to his glass of water, and looked carefully at him over the rim. “You’ll never guess who I bumped into…”

He had raised an eyebrow; there was little point in trying to guess where Miss Fisher was concerned.

“The Mayor!”

She had just happened to ‘bump into’ the Mayor? Jack had wondered whether it had happened on the street, or in the poor man’s office as he sat, bewildered, behind his desk.

“Well… I thought, as I’ve now equipped myself for riding, I might as well buy an oilskin… and they were in the window of the draper just down the road from here – ‘Morris Jacobs’… And what do you think? The Mayor’s name is Solomon *Jacobs*…”

When Jack had failed to respond, she had looked at him for a moment as if he were slow-witted. “He *owns* the store!... Took it over from his father, apparently… Anyhow, what a coincidence!”

Jack had given her a look of wry amusement. “Yes… a coincidence indeed…” He gave an internal eye-roll. A coincidence! She had known all along and she had gone there deliberately, hoping to catch him, or find a way to meet him… But to what purpose?

“Yes, he’s a rather nice man… He’s got those rather twinkly eyes, no matter how hard he tries to look stern… The gossip around town is that he’s known for being a little extravagant… No doubt to our advantage… And of course he knows all the right people to get things done in a hurry… He was terribly helpful!”

Jack had lost whatever the point was at ‘our advantage’. “To assist us… with what, exactly?”

“This…” She had bitten her lip, and handed him a piece of paper that had been folded in her purse.

Jack had examined the paper with some astonishment “It’s… a marriage licence... with our names on it…”

“Yes!”

“But… How…?”

“I told you – he was very helpful in directing me to the lovely gents from the Registry Office… However,” she had leaned across and deftly removed it from his fingers, “we’re going to have to get a wriggle on if we’re going to make our quarter-to-three appointment in Melbourne.” With that she had pushed her chair out hurriedly, stood, and snatched her bag from the table, and given him a pointed ‘Are you coming?’ look.

Thus, he was now staring at her with amazed bemusement. “*Today*… We’re *getting married*… at quarter-to-three *today*?”

She put a hand out to the back of his chair, so that she could lean over him, and said, in a slightly dangerous tone of voice, “Unless you don’t want to…”

“But…” he looked at her in exasperation, “even I know that there must be at least three days between the Licence and a civil marriage…”

She looked at him carefully. “What is today’s date?”

He returned her gaze, questioningly. “The twenty-eighth…”

“Mm.” She nodded, then her face changed to one of wide-eyed innocence. “Let me look at the date on the Licence…” She pulled it from her handbag, and pretended to peruse it. “Fancy that! That ought to be an ‘8’… but I would *swear* it looks like a ‘3’… Yes… yes… definitely the twenty-third...”

Jack’s expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that… it’s not like it’s a forgery…… The handwriting is the clerk’s and the signature is the Registrar’s… and if someone made a mistake along the way that’s hardly *our* fault… It’s perfectly legitimate!... Just a little more timely than usual… So…”

He didn’t need any further prompting. Really, in the scheme of things, what difference would three days make? It might have been the most impetuous thing he had done in his entire life, but if she wanted to jump, and jump *now*, then he was determined to take her hand and enjoy the fall.

With Phryne at the Hispano’s wheel they had made it back to Melbourne in truly remarkable time, parking the car on Collins Street, and making a bee-line for the glittering displays of her favourite jeweller. Phryne, being Phryne, and not having an engagement ring, was not going to settle for a plain, gold wedding band. They had given themselves until midday to peruse the store’s wares (or hasten elsewhere if necessary); if she were unable to make a choice, then they would marry without a ring for now – it certainly made no difference to the Registrar of Births, Deaths & Marriages.

She did not tell the man that they were looking for a wedding band, only that she wanted to see *every* diamond ring he had to offer, dress ring or otherwise – after all, it was their secret, for now, and it might have seemed a slightly unusual request for such an item. He might not have done so for other customers, but she was one of the more free-spending of his clientele, and when she asked if he might leave them alone to peruse his wares, he had obliged.

She discarded all of the engagement rings, as they all seemed a little too sharp and pointy for her liking; then most of the dress rings went the same way. She hummed over one of a flatter type, with six diamonds cut in a rectangular style, surmounted by a darkly-glowing ruby; but then her attention was drawn to a wide band that contained diamonds of the same cut, except that there were far more of them – they were mounted so that their long edges touched, and they continued around the entire circumference – and the inner ‘band’ of diamonds was enclosed by two outer bands of platinum in a geometric pattern, interspersed with fiery orange-hued Queensland sapphires.

Jack heard her intake of breath as she plucked it from its velvet bed and pushed it onto her finger. It could not have been a better fit if it had been made for her, and her sparkling eyes told him it was *the one*.

Phryne asked for it to be put on her account, and although they had not even asked to see the price, Jack felt quite light-headed when, outside amongst the throng of shoppers, she had passed him the tiny box for safekeeping; then, a carriage clock in the jeweller’s window began to chime the twelfth hour, and they dashed back to the car.

Phryne dropped Jack on the street corner two blocks from the boarding house where he was now living in Northcote. In spite of her driving ‘skill’ they had still had a good two hours to plan on the trip back up the coast, and Jack knew exactly what was required of him before he met her later.

Still, he stood in his room for a few minutes, wasting time, wracked with indecision. When his divorce had been finalised, and he had sold the house that he and Rosie had occupied since his return from the Great War, he had discovered that his morning suit had suffered a moth attack, and had only been good to throw away. These days he so rarely had any occasion to wear one, so he had not yet replaced it. A dinner jacket and bow-tie were quite inappropriate to be married in, so what on earth was he going to wear?

He put off thinking about it whilst he unpacked and re-packed his overnight case, shaved and showered in the communal bathroom, and assumed his best underwear and his robe. He cleaned his teeth, applied some rather expensive aftershave that he had purchased recently, admittedly, because he rather thought Miss Fisher – Phryne – would like it, and combed his hair, before dashing back down the hall to his room.

A decision had to be made – navy or deep grey. Navy or grey. It was much of a muchness; they were both of the same textured wool, without further embellishment, of the same cut, and in a similar condition of wear. Navy or grey… Hmmm… he had a tendency to wear the grey when he was in court, attempting to appear stern and authoritative… Navy it was; and Phryne seemed to enjoy seeing him in that colour.

He dressed and pulled his black dress shoes from their place in the wardrobe – one could not wear brown to be married – then pondered his headwear. The only two hats he owned were his everyday hat in brown, and one of a similar style in black. As he was wearing black shoes, he retrieved the black one from its box, but then reflected that he usually only wore it to funerals.

He looked at himself in the wardrobe mirror, and eyed his precisely combed hair, made as dark and sleek as a seal by its application of dress pomade. He came to a rather startling decision; to hell with the hat, he was getting married, and it would only mess up his hair. It’s not like he could actually wear it inside the building, anyway. People might stare, and his ears may suffer a little more than usual from the cold, but he frankly didn’t care.

Satisfied, he draped his coat – which did not match anything he was wearing, but was the only one he had – over his arm, picked up his case, and went downstairs to use the telephone.

He took a taxi to the Hotel Windsor, where Phryne was waiting for him, and, with his coat slung over his case to obscure as much of the scuffing as possible, he strode purposefully through the lobby as though he belonged; something of a feat, given that the nightly tariff for a room without its own bathroom was one-pound-two-shillings-and-sixpence – and that was a little more than he earned in a day. He could only image the cost of the suites that Phryne preferred. He briefly felt the scrutiny of the elevator operator as he gave the man the floor number, but as the doors opened and he stepped out into the lush hallway, he found that he simply didn’t care what anyone thought of him today; except the woman waiting behind the door on which he knocked.

On the trip back to the city, as she had been driving and discussing a plan for the day with Jack, she had also been deciding what she ought to wear with such a limited timeframe (after all, she was a woman, and doing three things at once was a breeze). In her mind’s eye she had skimmed through her wardrobe, looking over things and then pushing past them as if they were actually on a rack before her.

Finally she had alighted on a suit that she had ordered by cable from Paris, but which she had not yet found occasion to wear. Yes, it would be perfect, as the days were still cool and rainy, and the wool would keep her comfortable when her fur was discarded in the cloakroom; but, it was spring, and the pale, dove grey colour would not be too heavy and drab.

When she had reached her own home, and explained to Mr B and Dot that the case was ready to be wrapped up, and that she now had other business to attend to (and she was going to stay out tonight), she had raced upstairs and begun rummaging through her collection of shoes. She had found the most gorgeous little pair of ivory kid, button-up boots the last time that she was in Paris; they had been a rather frivolous buy, and she had worn them only once there, and not at all since arriving in Australia. They would be perfect for today, if only she could find them…

After several frantic minutes she had, and she had tossed them into a trunk that she had opened on one of the spare beds. She had shooed Dot away when she had come to see if her mistress required her assistance, asking her to go and pack the grey suit, and one other, along with the blouses that she wanted to wear underneath, and the two hats that would complete the outfits. The trunk she packed herself with some more shoes, several pairs of gloves, stockings and underwear, a robe and nightdress, jewellery, the usual items required for her toilette, and a dress that was so covered with beads that it was almost impossible to crumple.

When Dot had returned she was horrified by the jumbled mess, but Phryne had slammed the lid down and locked it, called for Mr Butler to see it downstairs, thrown on her coat and grabbed her handbag and the hatbox, and tripped out to the car as the trunk was being strapped to the luggage rack, with Dot in tow carrying the case that held the grey suit.

She had smiled beatifically at both of her employees, told Dot to tell Jane that she should probably arrange to accompany Aunt P to church in the morning, but that Phryne would make it up to her, then jumped into her motor and roared off down the road, leaving them to shrug at each other in amusement.

Somehow, this morning, between charming the Mayor and arranging a licence, she had managed to telephone the Windsor and ask for a suite to be made ready for her arrival, of which she was very glad, as she had a little over an hour to prepare herself for what was, supposedly, going to be the happiest moment of her life – if that wasn’t a feat, she didn’t know what was.

She had bathed in record time, then taken a moment to calm herself as she stood and gazed at the suit, where the maid had hung it on the bedroom door; she was going to need both her wits and steady fingers in order to fit herself into the corset that, even she had to admit, was required to wear such a concoction to its full effect.

The suit was a surprising, but enchanting, mix of old and new.

The skirt had a very high waist, which widened below to mould to the curve of her hips, narrowed as it fell down her legs, and ended at a straight hem at the front, but with three godet ruffles falling from the backs of her knees to end a few inches above her ankles. They were set close together, the outside two being shorter than the middle, somehow echoing the long bustle dresses of her grandmother’s era.

The jacket, however was cut in a very modern style, which tapered up from a very narrow waist to emphasise very nicely what little bosom Phryne possessed, to a neat collar that appeared as two little triangles on each side, and closed at the hollow of her throat, making the choice of blouse beneath almost irrelevant. The jacket closed asymmetrically with a row of small self-covered buttons that swept from the top right collar down to the left at her waist, where they met the belt that cinched a crisp little peplum. The shoulders were broad, but the sleeves were narrow, and ended in turn-back cuffs that buttoned just below the fold, on the inside of her wrists.

Standing before the mirror in the foundation corset and her stockings, she had given herself a nod of approval; she preferred not to wear such restrictive clothing, but the shiny fabric of the body was covered in a rather pretty pattern in pale pink, and the cups by creamy lace, and she *did* look very alluring. Not that Jack would see her this way; at least not today. It was unlikely anyway – she really didn’t think that the poor man would be up for the frustrating task of unclipping, unhooking, unlacing and wriggling her out of the rubbery sheath on their wedding night. Perhaps at some later date though…

With the speed born of much practise she had applied her makeup, although she did not finish her customary red pout, choosing to press only the lightest layer of colour onto her lips for the time being. She had brushed and checked the back of her hair in the mirror – thankfully she had only been to the hairdresser two days prior, and in spite of all of the travelling it had stood up rather well.

She had bent and used a hook to do up the tiny buttons on the ivory boots, and had turned her feet this way and that to admire them. Unlike her other boots, they rose only an inch above the points of her ankles – where they ended in a sort of a ruffle – and were short enough to be fashionable at this time of year, but long enough to prevent dirty city water splashing her pearly silk stockings; they had driven with the roof up on the trip back from Geelong, and it had been drizzling on and off ever since.

That accomplished, she had thrown on her blouse, buttoned on her skirt, and opened the small box containing her jewellery.

She had pinned a magnificent platinum brooch onto the front of her jacket – the grey pearls, which sat amongst a cluster of diamonds, having enough of a pinkish blush to highlight the slight lilac tone of the suit. She had hooked in matching earrings – long diamond encrusted drops that ended in single platinum-mounted pearls – then put on the jacket and buttoned it, pulled on ivory kid gloves, and topped her outfit with her ivory cloche with the grey swirl. With her ivory kid handbag and her knee-length white fur, her outfit would be complete.

Altogether Phryne had been very pleased with her appearance; Jack was a man, and as such she could never expect him to notice all the details, but he would certainly enjoy her overall sartorial splendour.

Now, she twirled one last time, and blew herself a kiss in the mirror, before taking off the hat, gloves and jacket; they would be donned again only at the last moment before they left. There was a knock at the outer door of the suite, and she called out to admit Jack.

He was a little unsure as he entered with his case and coat, and he was very pleased to see her looking so pleased to see him. The drive over in the taxi had really been the first time today that he’d actually had a moment to stop and *think*; and that had started a niggling worry that Phryne might be regretting her choice.

Evidently not. She came over to him with an appreciative look in her eyes, immediately smoothing her hands down his chest. “You look good, Jack…”

“As do you…” He had not previously seen her wearing a skirt of the cut she was now wearing, but he had immediately decided that he liked it very much; the hourglass silhouette, and the tantalising manner in which the wavy part at the back brushed around her legs, just where the curve of her calves began… As he snaked his right arm around her waist his fingers found the boning of her corset, and he was a little surprised. He had not previously spent a great deal of time *deliberately looking* at Phryne’s attire, but it was a little hard *not* to notice that she generally favoured more relaxed undergarments – particularly when the sun shone right through the floaty dresses and blouses she tended to wear...

As he bent his head to kiss her slowly his hands enjoyed the feel of her small waist and curved hips, a fact which did not escape Phryne’s notice, and she hummed her approval; but just then there was a sharp rap at the outer door, and they jumped guiltily apart with identical grins.

Phryne’s dear friend, Raymond, had chanced upon her solicitor waiting for the elevator down in the lobby. The two gentlemen had met when Phryne had invested in ‘The Bride of Babylon’, and Raymond did not think it a coincidence that Felix was here; after all, when she had telephoned him this morning and asked (insisted?) that he make himself available for a few hours this afternoon, she had said it was a matter of some importance.

They had shaken hands and Felix had confirmed that he was, indeed, here to see Miss Fisher; so they had ridden up together, and now Phryne flung open the door to the suite and ushered them inside.

“Hello, darling…” She kissed Raymond’s cheek, then smoothly transitioned to greet Felix and thank the two gentlemen for coming. “Felix, this is Detective-inspector Jack Robinson… Raymond, you remember Jack…”

“Of course…” he stepped to shake his hand, “Inspector…”

Phryne put a hand on her hip and tilted her head, “You may as well call him ‘Jack’… as you *are* one of my dearest friends… and he *is* going to be my husband…”

Raymond goggled for a moment, before giving a surprised laugh. “Phryne… Is it true… or are you playing some sort of game?”

She looked back at him, a little miffed. “Of *course* it’s true… I would hardly joke about something so serious…”

When the astonishment had passed, there had been hearty congratulations, and Phryne had explained the entire situation and the reason for their presence *today*. Then, the clock on the mantel had struck quarter-past-two, and they had prepared to leave.

When Phryne was ready and standing in the entry, she double-checked with Jack; “Licence?... Personal identification?... Ring?...” At his affirmation they made their way downstairs and on to the Registry Office.

The whole affair was done and dusted in a matter of minutes – it really was terribly unromantic, but Jack reflected that he now had (hopefully) a lifetime in which to make romantic gestures. They declared that they understood the serious and binding nature of the contract they were entering into, the four of them signed the applicable documents, and the Registrar was clearly in the process of finalising the ceremony, when Raymond (who was usually a little more timid when it came to such things) interjected on behalf of his friend, asked whether the bride and groom might have a moment.

The Registrar – who was another man with twinkling eyes – had agreed, and made himself busy with something on his desk.

Jack retrieved the ring from his pocket, and with a slight tremble to his hands, twisted it down over Phryne’s finger. Her expression changed then, and became utterly serious as she looked down at it, and Jack’s large, gentle hand still clasping hers. When she looked up at him, it was with a little awe for a moment, before she broke into a joyful smile.

She suspected that Jack was not a man who was prone to displays of intimacy in public, but he may well have to become used to it – starting today – as she had every intention of kissing him, and she had prepared accordingly.

A cabaret dancer had once shown Phryne her secret for long-lasting lip colour, and although she rarely bothered, preferring vibrancy over wear-time, she had made use of the method before they had left the hotel – one layer of the desired colour, carefully applied, the excess of which was then blotted off on a piece of silk gauze pressed between the lips; the lightest dusting of her finest face powder, which was then made fast on the surface of the colour by another press of the lips onto a clean section of the silk gauze; and, to finish, and bring a little shine back to the colour, three tiny dabs of Vaseline in the centre of her lower lip, and the gentlest press together of the lips to gently transfer a little to the arch of the Cupid’s bow.

Yes, she had not gone to this trouble to be thwarted by the staid governmental environment or any bashfulness on Jack’s part, and her eyes and her slightly parted lips told him exactly what she was waiting for.

His glance flicked to the other gents, and he looked reticent for just a moment, before he grinned, pulled her firmly towards him, and sealed his lips to hers; and if there was a little tongue involved, the others pretended not to notice.

When the Registrar had shaken Jack’s hand and offered his congratulations to Phryne, the four of them trooped outside, and Phryne stopped, uncertainly, before turning to Raymond and Felix. “I know that I asked the two of you for a couple of hours of your time… and this morning when I spoke to each of you I was planning on us heading directly over to your office…” she nodded at Felix, “but I have since planned a detour. I need to stop in to the bank, so perhaps you could go on ahead by tram…” He agreed, and left them at the car.

Raymond was looking at her in bewilderment. “Phryne, it’s *three o’clock* on a *Saturday* afternoon – all the banks closed at midday!”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I *know* that, but it’s the ‘English, etcetera Bank’, and although it’s true that they close to the public at twelve like everybody else, some of them *do* actually work on into the afternoon, when London is opening for the day… That way, any urgent matters can be dealt with in a timely matter by cable…” She put her hand on her hip and gave him her most entitled look. “…And as a valued customer, the Manager was only too happy to agree to an appointment at a-quarter-past-three …”

As they drove she turned back to Raymond. “I hope we won’t be long, but you’ll be terribly bored in the bank, and it’s on the corner of Little Flinders, so perhaps you could go into the Hopetoun Tearooms, and we could meet you there when we’re ready?” She tilted her head and gave him an enticing look. “You could have a slice of that positively decadent cake you’re so fond of…” He didn’t need any further incentive, and she laughed as he strode away almost as soon as he alighted from the car.

In the bank Phryne took great delight in introducing the Manager to her new husband, and requesting that he be immediately authorised to access her accounts; *that* jolted Jack out of his peaceful enjoyment of their plush surroundings. Caught up in Phryne’s enthusiasm, there were a great many things to which he had not given any consideration, and this was one of them. Jack had no idea of the extent of Phryne’s affluence, but he had seen the way she spent pounds as if they were pence, and it must be substantial; either that, or she was ‘living for the moment’ and spending what she had whilst she had it.

In either circumstance, although Jack, like every other man he knew, had dreamed of winning the lottery or stumbling upon some form of treasure, it made him uncomfortable to think that she simply expected that she must share her wealth with him. It seemed unnecessary to him; he was perfectly happy with what he had. Well… he could probably do with a new coat, as the one he usually wore was a little thin for those freezing Melbourne nights when he found himself stamping his feet to keep warm at a scene… And a new suit wouldn’t go astray… New shoes, for that matter…

However, these things were trifles, and really he *was* happy with his circumstances; a man in charge of his own destiny. So, he opened his mouth to object, then reflected that such a discussion was not to be had in front of the General Manager of ‘The English, Scottish and Australian Bank’.

At that moment, both Phryne and the Manager stood, and Jack realised he had missed something. Phryne, seeing the look on his face, realised, and looped her arm through his. “Come along Jack, we’ll be back when we’ve finished in the vaults… It’s important that you know what’s there…”

The safe deposit box vaults to be precise; several boxes were retrieved and placed on the table, and they were left to examine the contents. Each box contained an assortment of items – important papers, jewellery, and oddments of all sorts – Phryne’s reasoning being that if the bank were robbed, it was unlikely that the thieves would get away with all of her deposited items.

She left him as he opened the case that contained her Columbian emerald set, promising she would only be gone for a moment, so he continued his perusal.

Receipts for artworks and furnishings.

The title deed for 221b, and some other properties which he would have to ask about later.

An intricate diamond tiara – he couldn’t imagine her wearing such a thing.

The purchase documents for the Hispano. He gulped as he saw the cost, and it had not even been new! He was *never* driving it again; although that might be a little hard, as he was the nominated driver today. To Raymond’s discomfort, Phryne had teasingly answered him, when questioned, that driving was far less enjoyable whilst wearing a corset. At his stammered reply that he really didn’t need to know about the effects of her underwear on any of her abilities, she had simply laughed and said that if he were going to marry Clara, then such things ought to be taken into consideration by a doting husband.

Jack laughed to himself as he thought back on it; then picked up the next item – a hard, round case, about the width of a lawn bowl, with a label that gave no indication of the contents. He opened it, stared in puzzlement for a moment at what lay inside, then snapped it quickly closed as realisation dawned, and his cheeks reddened.

“Ah! I see you found my spare diaphragm!”

Jack fumbled the case back into the safe deposit box; of course Phryne would return at such a moment – but he had no intention of buckling under her amusement. “Spare?... Why would you need a spare?”

Phryne looked at him squarely, enjoying the fact that he had not just changed the subject in embarrassment. “What if the house burns down? You can’t just snap your fingers and get another like that! You have to make an appointment at the clinic – which takes time – and then you have to be examined, and fitted…” she smiled as Jack squirmed, “This way, if the worst happens, I’d only be without one for a maximum of two days if disaster struck on a Friday night!... Or three if the Monday were a bank holiday…” She frowned at that, then grinned. “Anyhow…” she tapped a fingernail on the case, “catastrophe averted!”

Her expression changed again, and suddenly she was giving him a sultry smile and looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Surely that’s to your advantage, Inspector…” It was almost a purr, and Jack cleared his throat; then deflected her seductive innuendo in a serious voice.

“Be that as it may, Miss Fisher, the address on the label would indicate that this particular one came from London… and although it is not illegal to *make use* of such a device, it is certainly illegal to *import* one… or, indeed, more than one.” He made his point with his most stern police officer look, before a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “How on earth did you get them into Melbourne?”

She grinned back at him, and leaned in to impart her secret. “Darling husband, in my experience customs officials tend to balk at rifling through a lady’s intimate apparel, especially when they happen upon other intimate items that said lady might require… on a monthly basis…”

“Ah,” He tilted his head at her “a fact which I shall bear in mind should I ever have to rummage through a suspect’s luggage.” He nodded, as if thanking her for this gem of information, and she gave his forearm a gentle slap. “Come along, we’d better get moving…”

They returned to the Manager’s office, where Jack put his signature to several documents, the man passed Phryne a wad of notes in an envelope, thanked the pair of them ever so much for their custom, and ushered them out through the locked front doors.

Raymond was collected from the Tearooms, and they drove over to Russell Street, where the firm in which Felix was a partner had its offices. He had been busy since he had left them, and Jack felt increasingly bewildered as paper after paper was presented for signatures all round, with a minimum of explanation. As he had in the bank, he felt that these were all matters to which he had given no previous thought, and required that he give them more thorough attention, but were best left for private discussion with Phryne at a later time; and in truth, she was not wrong in her desire to have legal matters attended to in haste – they both knew that life could change or end in an instant.

So he entrusted himself to Phryne and Felix, and did as they advised, but he was relieved when they had stepped out into the street again and he could clear his head.

Raymond asked whether there was anything else that he might do for the newlyweds that day, and Phryne had given him *that* look; the one that Jack knew she used to butter up those people who were close to her – it was sincere, but lay somewhere between charming and pleading, especially when the tiniest pout was added. “As… a *master* of the photographic arts… I wondered… whether perhaps you might… take our picture… in one of your theatres?” She then shrugged at him, as if it really didn’t matter to her either way.

Raymond regarded her seriously. “Phryne, darling… are you suggesting that I bar my patrons from one of my screens – those that fill my coffers… and yours I might add – in order that you can have your photograph taken?”

The pout increased, and her hand moved to her hip. “Well, when you put it like that… Yes!”

Jack watched as Raymond melted.

“Right… well… I expect that we ought to get back into that motor of yours, if we’re going over the river to South Melbourne…”

Phryne squealed, flung an arm around his neck to kiss his cheek (noting, with satisfaction, that her lip colour was still holding), then shrugged at Jack as if to say “You see? Don’t I always get what I want?”

Thus they soon found themselves at the picture theatre, where Raymond strode through the doors with more presence than was his usual style, and announced, to all and sundry, that the theatre was closing due to a technical malfunction. As the staff and patrons boggled alike, he ascended the stairs to make his way in to the theatre proper, passing on his apologies as he went; “Yes, terribly sorry, sir, tickets will be refunded or exchanged…”

In the space of fifteen minutes Raymond and his staff managed to clear the theatre of its disappointed customers, and he then sent the majority of them on an unexpected break. As he fussed over the photographic equipment that was usually only used for the production of promotional materials, he instructed the displaced string quartet to find some chairs and provide some background music.

Jack and Phryne had busied themselves with using the facilities, and wandering about, looking over the posters for the latest films, but as the musicians struck up a waltz Phryne bounded into Jack’s arms with exuberance, and entreated him to dance. He fell in with her, somewhat reluctantly, but he could not help but to begin to enjoy himself, as they glided over the plush, patterned carpet.

*Click*

Raymond fancied that he had caught the two at a perfect moment, and he hoped that the photo would actually turn out, as the Inspector – Jack – had faltered in his steps at the sound, and was giving Raymond a look that said ‘That was rather unfair…’

Phryne laughed as she looked between the two gents. “Jack is rather shy, Raymond… and dancing in public is not one of his favoured pastimes…”

Raymond looked back at the two of them with some amusement. “Well, I expect that he’s going to have to get over it – on both counts – as he *has* married *you*.”

Jack conceded the point with a sideways tilt of his head, and Raymond turned to the young man who was assisting him, and began to direct him on the turning of one of the ferns that sat, in a very grand jardinière, at the foot of the main staircase, so that it was just-so.

Phryne made noises of appeasement to Jack, then reached up to fix his tie, which, in fact, was not at all crooked, but she felt that he would find the action comforting; and she was not really paying that much attention to what her fingers were doing anyway, as her sparkling eyes met his.

*Click*

“Raymond!” she chided her friend with an exasperated laugh.

“Alright, alright…” he put a hand up in surrender, “no more without warning…;” but he was not about to cross his heart on that…

They spent the better part of an hour tramping through the theatre with both a fold-up and a tripod-mounted camera, so that Phryne could have all of the photographs that her heart desired – in the foyer, sitting in the velvet seats of the theatre proper, in the aisle in front of the magnificent curtained stage, looking down over the balcony of the upper box area, and finally ending on the main staircase.

As they trooped down on their way out, Phryne pouted and trailed a gloved hand down the glossy wooden rail. “I can’t believe that the theatre is empty, and I can’t even slide down the banister!... Corsets really are even less fun than they’re made out to be…”

The gentlemen rolled their eyes at each other, an action that did not go unnoticed, and Phryne’s hands went to her hips. “I’d like to see either of you wearing a corset!” Jack huffed out a laugh, and looked to Raymond for agreement. “*No*, you really wouldn’t!”, and Phryne had laughingly agreed that he was probably right, before glancing up at the clock above the ticket counter.

“Well, I expect that we ought to get going, and leave you to re-open in plenty of time for the eight o’clock session…”

Raymond regarded her with a mock stern expression. “You’re lucky that the five o’clock session is always quiet, what with all the decent folk being occupied with preparing or eating dinner. So I haven’t lost my fortune this afternoon…”

Phryne looked at up him in a manner that was both grateful and adoring. “I *do* love you… Thank you, Raymond.”

“Hmm… well, run along then…”, and he waved them out of the doors, before returning to his bemused employees.

Phryne gazed thoughtfully out at the city as Jack drove back to the Windsor. “Raymond really is a darling…” After a moment she reached out her right hand and rested it on his thigh – an action which was still foreign to him, but not unwelcome – and she said “What I am going to call you?... *You* are also a darling, and I’m bound to call you ‘darling’ sometime, but then I call a lot of people ‘darling’…”

“Hmm… perhaps you can call me ‘Jack’…”

She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that his were glued to the road in front of them. “Do be serious…”

“I *am* being serious… After all, my name is actually ‘John’…”

She regarded him for a moment, and saw the slight quirk of his mouth. “Fine, but I suppose that my point is…” she hesitated for a moment, “How did Rosie address you?... And you, her?... I’d rather avoid awkward moments if possible…”

He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. “Of course… Well, for the most part, she called me ‘dear’,” the quirk returned to his mouth, “even when I wasn’t that dear to her anymore… And before I went to war she was my ‘girlie’… but later, just ‘Rosie’, as her full name is Rosalind anyhow…”

“Girlie huh?” She smirked, and Jack could hear it in her voice. “Well, don’t try that one on me, dear…”

“Perhaps you’d prefer… ‘wifie’?”

Phryne gave him a back-handed slap to his upper arm. “Just try it again, sweetheart…”

Jack humphed. “I’ll have you know that I *am* a sweetheart, baby cakes…”

Phryne laughed out loud. “That’s not quite to my taste, beloved…”

“Would you prefer something more saccharine, sugar?”

“’Sugar’?” Phryne was astonished, “Now that’s progressive, honeybunch…”

“Perhaps you’d prefer something more sparkly, my jewel…?”

“To match my personality, my treasure?”

They pulled up at the front of the Windsor, and Jack threw back as he alighted from the car, “Or perhaps something a little more natural, my dove...?”

As she took his hand and they started inside, she leaned toward him, and said, in a low voice. “I prefer my flesh less gamey, and more masculine, my sheik…”

As they stepped into the elevator, Jack thought that the game had surely come to an end; but as they passed the second floor Phryne spoke, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to her. “Would you mind holding my handbag for a moment, pet?”

“Of course not, poppet…”

Phryne watched the operator’s mouth quirk as he attempted to keep a straight face; he had seen this woman many times before, and she was no ‘poppet’, but laughing at the hotel’s patrons would inevitably end in his firing. As they stepped out onto their floor and the doors closed behind them, she gave Jack a gentle nudge with her elbow. “You win… This round anyway, my heart…” and as he swung open the suite door, she pressed up on her toes as she passed him, to press a brief but soft kiss to his lips.

They discarded her fur and her hat in the entry, along with the umbrella Jack had been carting around, and went through to the sitting area, where the fire was burning brightly. He filled his lungs with air, and he had the impression that she was doing the same beside him; after one of the most hectic days that Jack could remember, they could stop, and breathe.

Phryne gave him an assessing look. “I speculate that it will not make you unhappy if we do not dine down in the Dining Room tonight…”

He looked back at her. “No, but if you wish to, I won’t object…”

She caressed the fingers of his left hand with her right for a moment, before moving to the telephone. “We have a perfectly serviceable dining table here…”

Jack couldn’t help but smile at Phryne’s idea of ‘perfectly serviceable’; yes, he was quite sure that the six-seater mahogany table in the next room would be adequate for the two of them.

“… so I’ll call down for a menu – but if you don’t like what’s on it, they will make whatever you like… within reason, of course...”

She did so, and added, “Oh, and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot!”, and both arrived within a matter of minutes.

Jack eyed tonight’s menu with bewilderment; there were ten individual items listed (although that included coffee) – why couldn’t it just say ‘Soup, Fish, Meat, Salad, Dessert, etc’? What on earth was ‘Capon a la Montmorency’? Clearly, his exasperation showed, and Phryne came to sit beside him, swapping the menu for a glass of the Veuve.

“Gracious, everything looks rather rich tonight… Shall we try to keep it simple? How about a light consommé for the soup – it’s really not much more than a broth…” He nodded, so she went on, “Will you have crayfish? Or would you prefer fish – probably perch or pike?”

He agreed to crayfish, so they moved on to the meat. “Are you longing for a grill, or would you like to try the capon? It really is very nice – more or less a braised chicken – well, a rooster who’s no longer a rooster, if you understand my meaning – with a few little things on the side… We don’t have to have the same thing, so you could have a lamb grill if you like…”, but he was happy to try the capon, now that he knew what it was, and also ‘Pommes Parisienne’ – small balls of seasoned potatoes cooked in butter.

The cold, dreary weather called for a warm dessert, so they would end their meal with baked orange pudding with lashings of cream, and coffee.

They were sipping their Champagne, waiting on their soup course, when Phryne suddenly jumped up from the settee. “I’m going to take my jacket off,” and she began to undo the diagonal row of buttons, “would you like to do the same? After all, it’s just the two of us, and we *are* married now,” she grinned, “so I don’t think that we need to be dressed up to the nines to eat dinner together!”

She shrugged out of her jacket, and Jack rose to remove his, but she tapped him sideways on the arm, indicating that he should turn, and said “Here, let me…” Her hands came over his shoulders from behind, and she deftly pulled the garment back and down his arms. “There!” He felt her move away to go and hang the two items, and he allowed himself a moment to bask in the satisfaction that had spread through him at the feeling of her helping him out of his jacket – it really was rather nice.

She returned, and said, matter-of-factly, “Come to think of it, you’re no longer in need of a tie either…and…” she stepped up, grabbed his wrist before he knew what she was doing, and removed his left cufflink, her fingers brushing the sensitive inside of his forearm as she rolled his sleeve to the elbow. The actions were repeated on his right arm, before she reached up and removed his tie from the confines of his waistcoat. As she unknotted the tie and turned up his collar she looked up at him flirtatiously, and he was filled with sudden joy at the revelation that he was now allowed to kiss her at any time he pleased. So he snaked his arms around her, pulled her close, and did just that.

It was probably just as well that there was a knock at the outer door, before things became too heated, and Phryne pulled the silken tie swiftly from his neck, turned down his collar, and left Jack to admit the waiter and his trolley.

They took their time over dinner, savouring every mouthful, chatting light-heartedly, and flirting outrageously.

Jack found himself feeling utterly relaxed, and it had everything to do with the company; and lack thereof (Phryne had politely asked the waiter to wait out in the hotel hallway as they consumed each course). Phryne had rolled up her own sleeves just after they had taken their seats, and Jack reflected that he could not remember the last time that he had eaten, in company, in such an informal matter; it was wonderful to feel so free, and he imagined that it would be even better in a knitted vest, rather than the buttoned waistcoat.

As they had in the hotel dining room in Geelong, they were sitting at right angles, but they now had the freedom to take every opportunity to brush arms or legs, or take the other’s hand.

Phryne had previously found that the tension between them was agonising, as a woman who was accustomed to having a man if she particularly wanted him. With Jack, though, things had never been that straightforward, and now that things had changed, the feeling was positively delicious.

It was so odd how watching other people eat had previously been uninteresting, if not distasteful, but as she watched Jack tuck into his pudding with gusto, it somehow seemed to make her love him even more; how silly! As she contemplated him over the rim of her glass, she thought that she had never seen him look so relaxed, and it made her heart sing.

Jack was aware of her scrutiny, but it did not bother him; he had also been watching her, and it was astonishing to him that he was now able to do so, openly. Yesterday, as much as he had recognised that, these days, kissing Phryne was often on his mind, actually doing so was a dream which would almost certainly end in heartbreak. Now, here he was *married* to her; his life, no doubt, changing irrevocably in the process.

He wondered, vaguely, what would change. There were so many things that people would usually discuss before marriage, and that the two of them had simply disregarded in their haste; now they would have all the time in the world to meld their lives together, but it would not be without hiccoughs. He would have, or rather, he did now have, a wife who frequented the type of clubs that his colleagues were in the habit of raiding. He could not stop her from continuing to do so; after all, he had told her that he would never ask her to change. She was who she was, and that was why he loved her, and in promising herself to him, she had accepted his word that he accepted her.

So, it seemed that most of the change would occur at his end of the bargain, although much of that was inevitable, such as their living arrangements. With almost immediate effect, he would be moving into 221b, and becoming a member of that household; an employer to Mr Butler and Miss Williams (and, he supposed, also those two red-raggers), and a father-of-sorts to Jane. These things discomfited him a little, but did not displease him.

Of course he was going to have to become a little more socially active. Where he preferred his solitude, Phryne’s life was a whirlwind of activity; surely they could arrive at a compromise? Although, there would be no avoiding any in-house entertaining… But what of Phryne’s other commitments? When he and Rosie had been married, as his wife he had simply expected her to accompany him whenever and wherever requested, be it related to his family, his occupation, or any other reason he saw fit.

Now, he was certain that his role had reversed, and he would be at Phryne’s beck and call; after all, he may have been suddenly elevated in standing by his marriage to her, but she was a titled lady – and would always be considered a cut above himself – and there would be appearances to keep… but he supposed that that was a small price to pay...

Then there was the physical aspect, which, at this moment, he was both relishing and dreading. He had been raised in a conservative, middle-class family, where sex was *never* discussed; and he still cringed to remember the scant advice that his father had offered him on the night before his wedding to Rosie – it hadn’t really helped.

Phryne was an altogether different woman to any he had ever encountered. Women were not expected to enjoy sex as anything other than a means to please their husband and conceive children; she not only seemed to thrill to it, but openly pursued it.

Once, when he was in her parlour, he had overheard a part of a telephone conversation she had been having with a friend, and it had seemed to him that she had implied that a man could provide a woman with more pleasure than he might even enjoy himself! His inadvertent eavesdropping had had him reddening and making himself busy in re-filling his glass… and wondering – was it possible? He truly had no idea; and now he worried that he would disappoint her somehow, in comparison to all those men… not something on which he wished to dwell.

Phryne watched the slight frown that began to crease his brow; he was thinking too hard again, and she had an idea on which subject, as the night was drawing to a close, and they were now back on the settee, sipping an excellent port.

Dear Jack. No; she had to make a mental note *not* to call him ‘dear’, as had Rosie, not even in her head. *Darling* Jack (much better). As much as they were desperately attracted to each other, the prospect of ‘having relations’ with her must be a daunting one. At least if a man married a virgin then he could bluff his way through the first awkward encounter, but Phryne was no such prize, and the idea of slipping between the sheets with a woman who viewed sex as an art-form must actually be terrifying.

She did not know when he had last had that sort of intimacy with Rosie, but it seemed to her that it must have been quite some time – years – and that she would not blame him at all if he didn’t even make it out of the gate, so to speak. It was certainly not the time for seductive games, or even complicated clothing.

Jack had his arm around her, and she was pressed comfortably into his side, with her feet tucked on the cushion beside her. However, the silence was drawing out and starting to feel uncomfortable; she didn’t really know what to say, but she took the initiative and jumped in anyway. “Jack… I thought… tonight…”

She actually felt his pulse jump, and moved to give him a comforting stroke on the thigh… before realising her mistake and bringing her hand around to squeeze gently at him arm instead.

“Well, I thought… that perhaps dinner isn’t the only thing we should try to keep simple… So, if you like, you could go and shower or bath now and maybe read one of these magazines in bed,” she kicked out a foot and pointed a toe at the items on the nearest occasional table, “and I’ll relieve myself of this torturous contraption,” she ran her hand across the boning at her waist, “and join you in due course…” She looked him directly in the eye, “What do you think?”

Jack took a moment, sipping his drink, before meeting her gaze. “As always, Miss Fisher, you’re full of good ideas…”

“Is that so…?” she preened. “Are you prepared to put that on record, Inspector?”

He snorted. “And have you hold it against me ‘til the end of my days? I think not…”

When she slapped his thigh he jumped up and retreated to the bedroom, leaving her relieved that that conversation had ended with a bit of fun.

Jack did as she had suggested, and gathered his things and went into the bathroom to prepare for bed. He had only shaved that morning, but he did so again now, thinking that she might appreciate it; and in truth he also found the familiar action rather soothing. He focussed his attention on the mundane acts of showering and donning his pyjamas and robe, and tried to avoid thinking about what was to come. He cleaned his teeth, applied a small splash of aftershave, and combed his wet hair.

Right. There was no further procrastination to be done. In his haste to pack earlier today (had it only been mere hours ago?) he had forgotten his slippers, so he padded barefoot across the carpet to advise Phryne that the bathroom was all hers, hung his robe on the hook on the back of the bedroom door, and slipped into the enormous bed.

Phryne’s things were all already in the bathroom; she immediately turned on the bath taps, and as it filled she took the opportunity to apply cold cream to remove her makeup, and wrestle herself out of the corset. Her skin was marked in strange patterns where it had restricted (or constricted) her, but a soak in the scented tub would smoothe out some of the lines, and, quite frankly, she doubted that Jack would notice any of them.

When she had filled the tub early that afternoon she had taken the time to apply an entire tube of Veet cream; hence her legs and underarms were silky smoothe, and as she had nothing further to do now, she lay back and closed her eyes, and for ten minutes or so she lazily drifted on thoughts of the warm water and the bubbles, and the fun time they had had at Raymond’s picture theatre.

She was brought back to earth by the thought that it would be wholly unromantic to appear with prune-like fingers; and she jumped out and dried herself thoroughly. She did not want to suffocate Jack with too much perfume, so instead she lathered herself in a deliciously, but lightly, scented cream.

Still wrapped in her towel she cleaned her teeth, and looked for signs of rogue makeup; strangely she did not wish to go to Jack tonight with anything hidden. She plucked her nightdress from where it hung beneath her robe, and slipped it over her head, before smoothing down her hair.

She gave herself a last look in the mirror. Funny; she really did look rather younger than she had felt for some time. Not that she felt old, as such, but she did feel that somewhere between her impoverished childhood and the war, she had missed out on her chance at youthful revelry; but she spent a great deal of time, these days, making up for it.

It was not her usual custom to wear a nightdress at this time of year. In spite of the fire the nights were still cold; but she was not giving herself over to the man she loved whilst wearing pyjamas – even if they were beautiful and silk and divinely Parisienne. So, here she was in a silk slip of the palest peach, falling just below her knees to end in a lace hem. All in all it was a simple piece, but what made it rather lovely was the way in which a sort of bodice was formed.

The entire garment was made of one piece of material in a long rectangular shape, with the low neck and back cut out into a curving ‘V’ on each side, the material folded in half where the shoulders would sit, and stitched together with a hem at each side. However, a lace panel three-quarters of an inch wide had been sewn around the circumference, below the bust-line, and a ribbon threaded through it. When the ribbon was pulled tight and tied in a bow at the front centre, it created a lovely silhouette, and Phryne fancied that the way in which it moulded to her small breasts made a very alluring picture.

She put on her long, silver robe, but decided against slippers; she was planning on being in bed within a matter of moments.

Jack looked up from his magazine as she came out of the bathroom, and tried not to immediately break out in a nervous sweat. He was thankful that Phryne had had the foresight to ask that only the fire in the sitting room be lit today; he was feeling warm enough already.

She really was intensely lovely and he wondered how he could bear it. He had seen her dressed in nightwear before, but he had never seen the particular robe she was wearing now, that fell to the floor, and glowed softly silver, lighting her skin. He watched her as she glided out to turn off the lights in the other rooms, before padding softly back in, and to ‘her’ side of the bed, where she stopped.

He suddenly wondered – “Sorry, did you want to sleep on this side? I didn’t think…”

She smiled gently at him. “It’s alright, Jack, I’ve never really had ‘a side’… but I suppose that I often get out of bed on this side, as it’s the closest to my bathroom door… so, if you’re happy to stay where you are, then I guess you’ll always be my right-hand man!” She grinned, and he couldn’t help returning it, acceding that that would indeed be the case, as far as their bed was concerned, anyway.

She bent to turn on her bedside lamp, then returned to the bedroom door to flick off the main light switch. At the foot of the bed she untied her robe and shrugged it off to drape it over a nearby chair.

Jack’s mouth went dry, and as Phryne moved up the bedside, and slipped beneath the covers, he could not help but stare; but what did it matter? He was now perfectly entitled to do so. Of course he had seen her breasts *naked* at the Imperial Club – a sight which still fed his fantasies – but the way the shiny fabric of her nightdress cupped them so perfectly now, like fruits that might fall from their bag at any moment, fed a fire in his belly that had started smouldering as he had nervously awaited her arrival.

The magazine lay, forgotten, in his hands, and Phryne shimmied across the bed to press against him.

“What are you reading? Or rather, what were you reading before I rudely turned off the overhead light?”

“Uh…” Jack had quite forgotten.

“Table Talk? Really Jack, I never knew you went in for all that salacious gossip… and advertisements for furs and hairdressers and feminine hygiene products…”

He cleared his throat. “There is an interesting piece on ‘Leeter’ Collier…” Phryne stared at him dumbly. “the Brownlow Medallist…?”

“Oh!... Football… I’m sure it is… *very* interesting…”

The magazine was limp in Jack’s fingers, and Phryne reached out and flicked it so that it slid off the bed and onto the floor.

Her eyes pinned him in place, before they flicked down to his lips, and she pushed herself up so that her own lips could follow the path of her gaze.

Jack made a sound of longing as she moulded her mouth to his, and he scrambled to put his left arm around her and pull her close, his right then hastily joining in to close the gap between them entirely.

The kisses were not soft, but they were lingering, as they began to explore each other with hitherto suppressed abandon.

As her hands explored the contours of his back, Phryne pushed her nose into his cheek and revelled in the scent of his aftershave and his skin. As she did so, Jack looked down in the dim lamplight, and saw her breasts straining against the silk of her gown, where they pressed against his chest; he had to touch them. As his thumb brushed over her left nipple, her mouth found his once more, and she moaned with longing; the sensation was electric, and Jack was already hard with his want, as Phryne grabbed for his right hand, and moved it to cup her left breast entirely.

She had already had enough of exploring him through his clothing, and her fingers scrabbled to find the buttons of his pyjama shirt. The moment they were undone she pulled the offending garment from him, briefly feeling the loss of his arms around her, then set her fingers to map the muscles and bones of his chest, his back, his abdomen.

As she tangled her legs in his, to bring him closer and press his hardness to her belly, his mouth found her neck, his hands still roaming over her chest and waist.

“Here…” she showed him the ribbon end, and he pulled, releasing the soft mounds from their confines and into his waiting hands. As his fingers kneaded, and pinched at her dusky nipples, she moaned and panted open-mouthed against his lips.

“God, Phryne…” There was so much blood pounding through his cock that Jack wondered (ever so briefly) how any other part of him could function at all. He wanted her so much, and clearly, if the way she was tugging off his pants was any indication, she wanted him just as badly.

As she freed him, his right hand stroked up her left thigh, pulling the silken gown upwards as he found the curve of her hip, and then her waist; but he couldn’t *see* her. He *had* to see her; so he roughly pushed the bedding off them, and kicked it away down the bed.

She knew exactly what he wanted, and it was what she wanted also, so she was up on her elbows, and he pulled the nightdress off over her head, leaving her bare to his intense gaze.

He ran his right hand down her body, but he did not think that he had it in him to last much longer, and he pulled her close against him once more, and as she lay back down she pulled him so that he was laying almost over her, his right leg tangled between hers.

For a moment they were back to lingering kisses, before she grew impatient, wriggling and bending her left leg, opening her hips to him and bringing his aching tip in contact with her wet heat.

Jack groaned, and buried his face in her neck. God, the smell of her! Her perfume, her skin, and *that* warm scent that filled his nostrils. His tongue found her earlobe, and she whimpered, “Please, Jack”, and then her fingers were pressing into his buttocks, coaxing him inside her.

Jack trembled with the effort of not coming there and then, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead; and suddenly they were moving, one of her hands pressed against the bedhead above her undulating spill of hair (who knew what had happened to the pillows?)

It was fast, and hot, and sweaty, and noisy – as he grunted in his efforts, and she moaned and panted beneath him – not that they would remember any of that later.

The pressure was unbearable; Jack knew that he had lost the fight to hold on, and his mouth was full of her hair as he said “I love you!” With a last few hard, desperate thrusts, he spilled inside her; and with a shocked gasp she followed him. Now it was his turn to be shocked, as he felt the tremors course through her, and she turned to jelly in his arms.

As he softened and slipped out of her, he moved to slide away, but she held him fast; and he lay with his face slightly turned towards hers, listening to her breath slow. Finally she huffed out a surprised laugh, and he lifted his head to look at her as she pushed wayward strands of hair from her face. “Good grief!... That was worth waiting for…”

Jack’s own hair hung down over his forehead, and as he returned her grin, she reached up a hand to gently tangle it and push it away from his eyes. Her voice was husky, as she spoke again, “And for the record… I love you too…”

She lifted her head to meet his mouth, and they spent long minutes on soft, slow kisses, before rolling so that he was on his back. Jack retrieved the pillows, and pulled their bedding over them; the rain was falling hard enough now to drum at the windows, and there was a definite chill in the air now that their bodies had cooled. He settled back comfortably, and Phryne curled into his side, her left leg over his hip, and her head on his shoulder. He felt her relax progressively against him, her breath deepening, and her fingers stilling, and as he drifted off he thought that he had never felt so contented in his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack woke with a heavy weight in the crook of his left arm, which appeared to be a shock of glossy, dark hair. He could not see Phryne’s face, as she had pulled the down quilt up around her ears, but he could feel her breath ghosting over his skin.

He craned his head and squinted to read the clock on the mantel in the lamplight – roughly twenty-past-one.

His arm had fallen asleep, and he did not mean to wake her as he attempted to bring some life back to it by squeezing his hand into a fist; but the flex of his muscles beneath her head had her stirring, and she leaned across to kiss him. As she did the pins and needles flooded his arm, and he groaned, causing her to pull back and lean on an elbow to look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Pins and needles…” He closed his eyes briefly against the sensation, and when he opened them she was looking at him with a wicked grin.

“I think I can help you with that…”

He looked at her, puzzled, for a moment, as her fingers trailed lightly down his abdomen and… ohhh. He was actually a little startled by the sensation of her small fingers on his most delicate skin; the only hands that had ever touched him there, deliberately, were his own, and those of the army doctors who had conducted his medical examinations.

Phryne asked, innocently, “Do you think that’s helping?”

“Ah… it’s definitely…” he cleared his throat, “having some sort of effect…”

Her smug grin widened, and he decided to wipe it from her face, rolling them both quickly so that she was beneath him once more, her hand trapped between her own belly and the evidence of what she had been doing with it.

He looked down at her with a serious expression, but laughing eyes. “Yes… thank you… I believe that my arm is feeling much better.”

She wriggled her fingers and he groaned, but this time with pleasure. “Miss Fisher, I do believe that you are *evil*…”

She giggled, removing her hand to wrap both arms around his torso. “You may be right, Inspector… but *I* do believe you love it…” and as he began to trail kisses along her collarbone she moved her hips against his, teasing him, and letting him feel the wetness of her.

Soon enough she was taking him in hand once more, but this time to tease his tip up and down along her folds, before guiding him lower to press inside her.

This time he tried to take it more slowly, savouring every stroke, and pressing up on one hand to watch her, mouth open, face flushed, her breasts jiggling with both the movement of their bodies and her heaving chest; but when he adjusted his angle slightly, in an effort to maintain his control, she moaned and threw her head back, panting “God, yes… just like that… Jack…” He watched as her eyes widened, then squeezed shut as her fingernails bit into his flesh, and she clamped hard around him, pulling him over the brink with her.

Phryne lay and basked in her pleasure, caressing Jack’s sides gently as the last tiny pulses rippled through her. She would be lying if she said that her eyes had never been drawn to the front of Jack’s pants for a sneaky assessment of what lay beneath, but although she had guessed that he was not ‘small’ … Well, the man was hung like a horse, and although neither of their encounters so far had been particularly sophisticated, they had each been deeply satisfying.

And now he was hers, to do with as she pleased (provided he had no objections, of course), to have and to hold… Hee-hee; she didn’t think whoever had penned that line had had her dirty mind. She was already thinking ahead to their future endeavours, when Jack pushed up on his arms to look down at her, and noted the smirk on her face.

He regarded her suspiciously. “What are you thinking about?”

Should she lie?... Well, he *was* her husband now, and he was going to have to get used to her amorous, and somewhat indecent, nature. Her arms wound around his neck like snakes, and she told him the truth in a husky voice. “I was thinking about… all of the ways… that you could take me… with… your… giant… cock…”

His eyebrows shot up, and she wondered if perhaps she should have waited a little longer before revealing this side of herself to him; but then his tongue tangled with hers in a manner that suggested that he was *very interested* in what she might have to say on the subject.

Although possibly in the morning; the day had been a very long and busy one, and after (only) two rounds, they were both exhausted.

Her eyes were very heavy as she slid out of bed to use the bathroom, and when Jack returned from doing the same, she switched off the lamp, and neither of them could have said who fell asleep first.

Jack woke at around nine-thirty – which was exceptionally late by his standards – and luxuriated in the feeling of a warm body close to his on a cold morning; something which he had not experienced for many years.

Soon enough, though, he came to the realisation that the suite was very cold, and that Phryne may appreciate a little more warmth in the air when she rose; so he retrieved his pyjamas from the floor, and warmed them under the bedcovers. He sat up slowly, and put on and buttoned the shirt, before gently swinging his legs out to put his feet through his pant legs. As he stood, pulling them up, Phryne stirred, stretching like a cat, and squinting up at him through her riotous hair. “Where are you going?”

He couldn’t help smiling as he answered her; he had never seen her look so adorable. “I thought that you might appreciate it if I called down for a hot fire and a hot breakfast…”

She beamed up at him. “You are an angel…” before dropping her head back to her pillow and dozing off again.

Jack went into the bathroom (*now* he would have liked to have his slippers) and stepped briefly under the shower, then went to call for a maid and a very late breakfast.

The morning blended into afternoon and evening again, as they sat in bed and talked and laughed about inconsequential things, read through The Argus, discussed how and when their new circumstances would be disclosed to their family and friends, and in general, made plans for the next day, when Phryne would return home (she remembered, at around two o’clock, to ring Mr B and tell him that she would not be home again that night), and Jack would return to work. And, of course, these activities were interspersed with more amorous ones, as they sought to learn each other, with eyes and hands and mouths and more besides.

Eventually, though, they decided that they must get up and dressed for at least a short while, so they showered and dressed for dinner; Phryne in the beaded gown she had flung into her trunk, and Jack in the dinner suit he had been able to squeeze into his overnight case, and which, since yesterday, had been gently steamed in the bathroom whenever the shower or bath had been used.

They each enjoyed watching the other dress; Phryne making a mental note to *immediately* buy Jack some less itchy-looking underwear, and Jack wondering how on earth, after the night and day he had had, he could still feel warm watching her roll her stockings up her thighs.

When they were ready to go down, she was putting on her gloves when she stopped, looking at the ring on her finger. She sighed. “I suppose that we don’t want to let the cat out of the bag just yet…” and she removed her sparkling ring, regretfully.

As she held it in her fingers, Jack found inspiration, saying “Here…” and taking it from her, to twist it onto the third finger of her right hand. “I know that I’m not as well-travelled as you, but even I know that in some countries it is traditional for a wedding band to go on the right hand, and not the left… And, you being you, and it being rather ostentatious, I doubt anybody would suspect it of being anything other than a dress ring.”

She looked up at him with glowing eyes. “Jack, you are a genius! And you’re absolutely right; how silly of me! I was going to string it onto a necklace to wear tomorrow, but I’m sure it can stay exactly where it is now…”

She put on her short, lace gloves, picked up a beautiful little compact and lipstick, decorated in bright enamel colours in the Arts Décoratifs style, and slipped the ring over her finger that attached the two items to each other on short chains. Her dress had sleeves, of a sort, so she decided that, as they would not be leaving the hotel, she would not need a coat or wrap; after all, dining rooms everywhere were heated for the comfort of the ladies, and Phryne sometimes wondered how men were able to bear the warmth in all their formal layers. Nothing more was needed, so she looped her arm in Jack’s, and they exited the suite for the first time in nearly a day.

The beautiful Dining Room, with its ceiling domes and sparkling lights, was crowded, and full of chatter that rose above the quartet playing in one corner. Phryne nodded and smiled at various people, but she did not approach them, and Jack was thankful that none came to their table; this was, in effect, their honeymoon, and despite venturing into public, he did not wish to share her company with anyone else tonight.

Once again they drank Champagne, and this time they took their time and feasted on the full hotel menu. Phryne risked scandal, flirting outrageously and making eyes at Jack across the table, brushing his shins with her pointed shoes, and even reaching out to caress his hand; but what did it matter? Soon enough everyone would know that they were married, and not behaving immorally, just a little immaturely (in the opinion of most people, anyway).

Having eaten and drunk their fill, and allowing a little time for it all to settle over glasses of port, two hours later they retired to the suite, where Phryne most politely asked Jack to relieve her of her clothing; and being the gentleman that he was, he did.

In the morning, once again, they slept and breakfasted late; but today they would not be spending the whole day in bed – Jack’s shift started at four, and there were things to be done in the meantime.

One of the things on which Phryne insisted, and he supposed that she was right to do so, given her position in society, was the immediate ordering of new stationery; it would be unseemly for her to leave calling cards that did not reflect her married status. So, they left the hotel, whilst a maid packed Phryne’s things, and Jack did his best to be patient as they spent a good hour deciding on the typeface, the paper, the borders, the style of their new monograms…

That accomplished, she dragged him into the men’s department at Myer’s for what she considered the second most important task to be completed – new underwear and socks. Was it what he wanted to be doing today? No; but when all was said and done it was nice to have someone thinking of his most basic needs, and he was more than a little pleased with their purchases.

When they returned to the hotel and she had him change into the new underpants and undershirt (of a much finer, softer weave than he was accustomed to wearing), as she held the old ones in her hands she suggested that they were so scratchy that Dot could scrub pots with them, and that they might be best burned. When he had protested (yes, he only bought what he could afford, but no, he was not on the poverty line, and the quality was reasonable to the average person), she had suggested that they could probably be boiled up and then sent to a home for destitute men! Really! He should have been offended, but if what he was wearing now was anything to go by, then he had a far more comfortable life ahead of him, and the destitute men could have whatever they wanted from his wardrobe…

Phryne’s trunk had been packed (far more neatly than she had done it to come to the hotel), and to it she added Jack’s dinner suit, the navy suit he had worn to be married, and now a pile of men’s union suits, undershirts, singlets, underpants, trunk drawers, socks and fancy half hose; she had not wanted them delivered to the house as such a package would immediately arouse suspicion, so she would simply have to tell Dot that she did not want her trunk unpacked upon her arrival home – something Dot would find odd, but then Phryne supposed that Dot probably found many things her mistress did odd.

They made all of their last-minute arrangements, and then Phryne called down for the Hispano to be brought round and their luggage to be placed in the back seat – she did not want anything strapped to the luggage rack, as they had something else to collect before the day was done.

They declined an offer to view their account in the Lounge, as Phryne felt it would simply be time wasted, and when the clerk gave them their privacy she passed it to Jack to look over. Everything was in order (although the total made him sweat), and he looked down to see Phryne counting notes from the wad the bank manager had given her. She passed him adequate for the account and a little extra besides, then divided the remaining notes, and stuffed half into Jack’s inside jacket pocket, before he realised what she was doing.

“Phryne, what–“

The clerk returned and Jack did not have the opportunity to take up his protest until Phryne was driving out of the city centre.

“Oh, come on Jack, you *are* now my husband, *for richer or poorer*… it just happens that you’re now richer! You’re entitled to an income, and I think it’s only fair that we are equal, so…”

That was exactly his point; she had divided her money and was giving him half, and he did not want to diminish her income in any way…

“Don’t be silly, I didn’t give you half of *mine*… I simply asked the bank manager for double my usual amount…”

That was even worse! But as much as he protested, she would not give way, instead pulling to the side of the road, and turning to face him.

“Jack… I realise that it may take a while to become used to your changed circumstances – it did for me – but you did agree to share your life with me… and part of that life, as it stands, is the fact that I am…” she pondered her words, “fabulously wealthy. As such, that money is yours to do with what you wish–”

“But what on earth am I going to spend it on?” He punctuated his question with raised hands, and took the money from his pocket. “I only earn around £1 per day… after what you took to pay the hotel account, this is still £42!”

She pouted at him. “What if you want to surprise me with a trip to Tahiti?... That’s £110 right there for the two of us!”

He looked at her in disbelief. “£110? Do you *want* to be surprised with a trip to Tahiti?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Not particularly, no… but I’m just trying to make a point… What’s the point of having lots of money if you can’t spend it as you please?… And if you want to be more practical about it, then what about clothes? I don’t know about you, but a good quality fur coat would cost me at least £175…”

£175? He had saved to buy the coat he wore everywhere now, and it had cost him £4 – and that had been years ago…

“…and hairdressing costs me at least £1 a week… Not that I’m suggesting that you must pay cash for any of these things, of course… Just put it on account and use the cash for whatever you like… You’ll be surprised, Jack… The more money you have, the more you find to spend it on… And if, by some astonishing convergence of circumstances we should lose it all… then I suppose I shall have to join the Victorian Constabulary!”

She winked, but he retorted with a grin, “You can’t… They won’t take married women… So perhaps you ought to start learning to sew now…”

She leaned over and punched his upper arm. “I’ll have you know that I *can* sew…” then she looked at him with a grimace, “but let’s just say that we’ll be in serious trouble if we have to rely on that particular talent of mine to bring in an income…”

She released the brake and pulled out – discussion over – and soon she was pulling the car to the kerb two houses down from his boarding house; it was impossible to park any closer as a large family was obviously moving in close by, and a dray, a small battered truck, an equally battered car, and an assortment of furniture were occupying a significant section of the street.

Jack leaned over, kissed Phryne quickly (just because he could), and said “I’ll be back as quickly as I can…” before retrieving his case from the back seat.

Once inside his room he pulled out the one small trunk that he had brought here with him (the bigger trunk being among those of his larger belongings that were being stored at his parents’ house), and stood in the centre of the room, turning slowly to see everything that it contained. Having done so, he started packing, heavier things at the bottom, but only those things that he considered essential for now.

Into the trunk he loaded his favourite books; items that were particularly sentimental to himself, including the lighter his father had given him before he had embarked for war; the few cufflinks and tiepins that he owned; his black shoes and hat; the lockbox containing all of his personal papers; his shaving kit and other items he used every day; his nightwear transferred from his overnight case; and two suits, two vests, and two woollen jumpers and several ties.

Everything else – assorted clothing (including all of his remaining underwear), his dress uniform, his old army uniform and filled rucksack, other books, and general small items – would remain in the room for the time being.

He had not seen his landlady on the way in, but as he single-handedly manoeuvred the trunk down the stairs, she came into the hallway. He made the arrangements that he had agreed with Phryne, and made his way back to the car.

In spite of his haste, he had been gone at least twenty-five minutes, but she did not seem unhappy or impatient as he had expected, and jumped out of the car to help him strap the trunk to the luggage rack; a light rain had started and she did not want him to get too wet before his shift had even begun.

Only when they there both safely under the protection of the black hood did she turn to him with a knowing smirk. “Well, after having lived in ‘my world’ for the last two days, I’ll wager that you wouldn’t say no to a very late lunch of steak and chips…”

He grinned back at her sheepishly, and it was decided, so they stopped at a coffee house along their route from Northcote and the City South station, knowing that they were unlikely to be recognised by either of their acquaintances, and could thus spend their meal together, uninterrupted.

After a meal of burned steak, over-fried eggs, and a mound of chips covered in lashings of tomato sauce, they finally headed over to the station. A block away, Jack suddenly said “Pull over!” causing Phryne to swerve to the kerb with a screech of rubber, to look at him quizzically.

The look in his eyes told her exactly what his intentions were, although she voiced them regardless. “Jack… are you intending on kissing me, with the possibility that one of your colleagues might pass by at any moment?”

He gave her a delicious smile as he leaned close, and his right hand came up to caress her cheek. “That is *exactly* my intention, little bird…”

“Little bird?”

She tilted her head to the side, and he had to laugh, “Yes, that is it exactly… always so inquisitive, fluttering about with hardly a moment’s pause… and then there’s your beautiful plumage…”

She looked down at her red suit, as he tugged at a strand of her glossy hair that was escaping from her red cloche. “I thought it was the male birds that were brightly dressed…”

“Not always… For example…… Well, we just had ‘Rosella’ tomato sauce, what about Rosellas? Both the male and female are brightly coloured.”

She nodded quickly, and he laughed again, “You see? Whilst you have some very cat-like qualities that I enjoy, on the whole you are more bird-like… And if you don’t mind that name, then I suspect it’s going to stick…”

She considered briefly. “Well… I *do* rather like the idea of being a bird… and I do fly!… although I could use a cat’s nine lives…”

“Couldn’t we all…” He gave her a long, serious look, before leaning across to kiss her as thoroughly as one could on a busy street, at quarter-to-four in the afternoon.

As she wiped smudges of lipstick from his mouth with her handkerchief, she shrugged. “The hood is up and it’s still raining, so even if someone recognises the car, *and* sees you get out of it, I doubt that anyone will be any the wiser… Until tomorrow…”

“Yes, tomorrow…” He gave her a soft, slow look, “I’m looking forward to it…”

“So am I, Jack…” She looked back at him in much the same manner, before breaking into a grin. “Now you’d better kiss me again quickly for luck…”

He obliged, and she leaned across and held to his hand as he started to climb from the car, suddenly feeling bereft. She pouted. “Goodbye, my love, I’ll see you tomorrow… whenever you feel ready to come…”

He squeezed her fingers and nodded. “Goodbye, little bird…” He released them, and closed the door behind him, and she sat and watched him stride off, until he turned the corner; and he only looked back three or four times before he did.

As Jack pushed through the station door it felt very strange. It had only been Friday morning when he had left here last, and now, on Monday afternoon, it almost seemed as though months had passed since then; so much had happened.

The pile of paperwork served to remind him though; and the man he had arrested on Saturday morning in Geelong had been sent up by train, and was waiting in the cells for his final interview – Jack liked to be thorough in his wrapping up of cases. However, when Collins stepped through his superior’s door some time later, he was very surprised indeed to find the Inspector in an astonishingly good mood.

Phryne also felt a little strange, stepping over her own threshold – everything was familiar, and yet, somehow, everything seemed different. She bade Mr Butler that her things were to go to her room, but not to be touched for now, and the other, rather battered, trunk to the first spare room, but not to be opened; an instruction that she repeated to Dot – not that they would have been able to open it anyway, as Phryne had the keys, but at least if she made it clear now, then they were unlikely to ask questions.

When she passed her gloves to Dot, the first thing the young woman noticed was the fiery, sparkling ring on Phryne’s right hand. “Oh, Miss… how beautiful!”

“Yes, I bought it on Saturday! Isn’t it stunning?” She basked in her maid’s admiration, before Mr Butler enquired whether she would like coffee, and she made her way upstairs, Dot in tow with her coat, hat, handbag and gloves.

She changed into more house-friendly clothing, before draining her coffee quickly, and flinging herself onto her bed, unsure of exactly what she wanted to be doing.

Dot was in the bathroom, putting things away, and Phryne allowed herself a moment of unrestrained glee, pulling a pillow over her face and squealing into it, and wriggling about, kicking her legs as if something inside her body were trying desperately to get out.

Oh, what an adventure she and Jack had had… All the fun of eloping, without actually having to go away!... And how astonishing the news would be to their friends and families! She was bursting to tell someone their secret, but she had only to wait until tomorrow, when Jack’s shift would have ended, and he would *come home*, *to her*…

The idea of being married had always been so foreign to her. Why on earth would anyone want to shackle themselves to another person, permanently? Every day, to have to share a bed, a room, a house, thoughts and plans…

She wasn’t so naïve as to believe that things would always go smoothly. They would, undoubtedly, fight; they would each have to compromise; and yes, as much as he said that he would never ask her to change, she would have to at least *try* to behave, and to consider his reputation and needs before throwing herself headlong into situations.

However, what fun they were going to have together. She couldn’t wait to pamper him, to buy him everything and anything he could possibly want, to take him on holiday, and share in all sorts of adventures… And he was so terribly handsome! What a man to have on her arm at a party, or dancing, or strolling through the city... or even sitting across from her in the parlour at night…

She had a sudden thought, and jumped up, calling out to Dot to follow her as she strode down the hallway.

Dot found her in the end spare bedroom, hands on hips, looking around the room, and into the attached dressing room.

“Dot… Telephone the decorators who re-did my bedroom… Tell them to come this evening if they want the job…”

Dot’s eyes boggled – it was already twenty-to-five – and she opened her mouth to say something, but Phryne was already forging ahead.

“I have an idea for this room, and I already know, essentially, what I want it to look like… so tell them I’m prepared to pay double if they can start immediately.”

Dot’s words came out a little strangled. “*Double*, Miss? Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes…” Phryne turned to Dot with an excited grin. “Now… You telephone and I’ll tell Mr B that I’ll need dinner soon if the decorators are coming – something I can eat while I work… Oh, and will you telephone the Balaclava Hotel and see if you can hunt down Bert and Cec…? Then come back upstairs and help me empty this wardrobe…”

A half-hour later, Mr Butler found his employer supervising the red-raggers, who had grudgingly put down their beer glasses to come and move furniture out of the room. “Miss Fisher, the Inspector is on the telephone…”

She looked at him curiously, but nevertheless not expecting him to know the reason. When she sat on the stool at the telephone table, she gave a quick glance around – good, Mr B had already disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. “Jack? Missing me already…?”

She heard the amusement in his voice as he answered. “Every moment… However,” his voice changed, “it seems that I am going to have to miss you for a little longer than we planned…”

“Oh?”

“Mmm… We – being Detective-sergeant Willis, from Russell Street, and myself – are being sent out to Yallourn–“

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s out to the east, about two-thirds of the way between here and Sale… There’s a coal mine there… a big power station that feeds down to Richmond… The whole town was built by the State Electricity Commission to house their workers…”

Phryne hummed her understanding, and Jack continued. “We’re being sent out to assist with the questioning of a group of men in relation to their connection to a suspicious death in another nearby town, Morwell… Our new Chief Commissioner is friendly with the Chairman of the Electricity Commission…”

“… and they want to get the whole matter sorted out quickly and quietly.” Phryne finished the sentence for him.

Regretfully Jack told her that he would be gone for at least a couple of days; with the men themselves to question, witnesses, and the full circumstances of the incident to be ascertained – although at least they would have the assistance of the Yallourn and Morwell constables. As he spoke to her he was rubbing fretfully at the back of his neck. What a way to start their marriage. But she didn’t seem cross or frightfully unhappy, just disappointed.

He promised he would do his best to telephone her every day, and she asked if there was anything that he needed, anything brought to him, or even a lift to the station; however, he had been given the news when Collins had walked into his office a half hour after he had arrived, and he had already raced back to the boarding house to grab his overnight case – from where he was telephoning her now. Collins was waiting outside in a car to take him to the Flinders Street train station for the evening service.

Phryne disconnected feeling crestfallen, before realising that at least it gave her a little more time to put her plan into action – and now it would even be a surprise to him. With that in mind, she wholeheartedly threw herself into its implementation; leaving the decorators frazzled, and herself so tired that she hardly had time to dwell on her frustration at the lack of Jack’s warm body, before falling into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Last night Phryne had outlined to the decorators what she wanted for the two adjoining rooms, and had chosen paint, wallpaper, carpet and window dressings; and early this morning a small army of workers had started showing up with the goods and the tools of their trades. At her request Mr Butler had telephoned a locksmith to put a lock on the dressing-room door, and if he had thought that strange, he had kept it to himself.

At lunchtime, having gone out by herself and purchased the items of large furniture necessary, she had come home to eat, and to check on progress, which she had found satisfactory. As she sat at the dining table eating some of Mr B’s excellent pie, she fingered the ring that was sitting, once again, on her right hand. Last night, as she had bathed, Dot had seen the ring on the little shelf in front of the mirror, and had asked whether she ought to put it away.

With Jack not returning as planned, Phryne could not justify openly wearing the ring around the house, but she had asked Dot to leave it there for the time being. She had worn it all night, on her left hand, but thankfully had woken as the curtains were being drawn open, and had pulled her hand beneath the covers before Dot could see it.

This morning she had dressed, for shopping, in an outfit that would complement the bold colour of the sapphires, so that she might wear the ring again without it seeming too odd – after all, she had so much in the way of jewellery that it was rare for any particular dress ring to occupy her finger for an entire day, let alone longer; this way Dot would simply think that she was enjoying showing off her newest purchase.

Leaving the house again, this time with Dot in tow, she spent a whirlwind afternoon purchasing rugs, lamps, two clocks, a smoker’s stand, assorted antique knick-knacks for both practical and display purposes, and one large and several smaller landscape paintings depicting scenes reminiscent of the poetry of Henry Lawson or ‘Banjo’ Paterson.

All of this was a little puzzling to Dot; as she understood it, they were to furnish the re-decorated rooms, which Miss Phryne had vaguely described as ‘a sitting-room of sorts’, however the items did not seem to her usual outlandish taste. However, Dot was also well aware of both how fickle and how impetuous her mistress was – and she was just glad that not one of the objects depicted a naked lady.

Shopped-out, and well-pleased with her purchases, Phryne had arrived home to find the rooms re-papered and painted, freshly carpeted, and with new venetian blinds and crisp, unadorned curtains hanging at the windows. Perfect. There was still a strong smell of paint fumes and wallpaper glue, but if the windows were left open when the rain wasn’t heavy, it would soon dissipate; and at least the furniture she had purchased could be put into place as soon as it arrived tomorrow.

When Jack had telephoned that evening, Mr Butler had been out to visit an ill friend, and Dot had been upstairs helping Jane with an embroidery exercise, so Phryne had settled by the telephone and had managed to have a good conversation with him that had only contained a little ‘shop-talk’, and was mainly personal. Jack had found the town surprising enough, but apparently the Yallourn hotel, where the detectives were staying, was huge and modern in every way, but had few patrons. It was all very strange, but he supposed that the entire township was still only relatively new, and perhaps it just needed several more years to ‘settle in’.

When it came time to disconnect they had both been reluctant for the call to end. Phryne had told Jack how much she was looking forward to seeing him again, and, having cocked her ear toward the stairs to ensure that no-one was approaching, how much she was looking forward to certain other things.

“Phryne!” Jack’s face and ears reddened, and he looked quickly around to ensure that no-one was within hearing distance of the public hotel telephone he was using. It was shocking, but he could not be cross with her. God, she stirred things inside him and made him feel so… He groaned, and repeated her name with a smirk in his voice. “Phryne… Now how am I supposed to have a good night’s sleep?”

Phryne laughed and smirked back at him. “Jack... There’s nothing wrong with a little self-relief… while you think about me, lying here… alone… all hot and bothered… and wet…”

At that he groaned again, and closed his eyes, rubbing his hand across the stubble of his jaw. Phryne was laughing again. “On that note, I’m going to say that I love you, and goodnight…”

Jack hesitated for only a moment; he had never actually *said* such a thing on the telephone before. “I love you too…… Goodnight, little bird…”

The next day Jack ‘phoned a little earlier, knowing that he and Willis would be busy that night; but unfortunately for Phryne, Aunt Prudence was in the parlour, lecturing Jane on… something. Phryne had drifted off at some stage, and the ringing of the telephone had been a reprieve. However, there was little that she could say to Jack with her aunt’s sharp ears in the next room, and she had to content herself with some scant details of his case, and his smug parting shot of “*Sleep well*, little bird…”

On Thursday he did not call, but she knew that he was busy, and she did not want to be one of *those* women who clung to their husbands; and she had lived a perfectly independent life up until now, without the need to account to any other person, so she busied herself and did her best not to think of him at all.

On Friday, again, he had not called, and when Hugh brought Dot home from the pictures and she asked him if he had heard from the Inspector, he said that he had not heard from him since he had left, but nor had he expected to.

On Saturday morning she had taken matters into her own hands and telephoned the Yallourn police, only to be told by the constable who answered that the Inspector was unavailable.

On Saturday night she called the hotel – Jack might have been a man, but he would not have been insensitive of the fact that they had been married for one week – however she was astonished to be told that he was no longer a guest. If that were the case, then she supposed that he was probably on his way home now, on the evening train; but why hadn’t he called, or sent her a telegram?

In the morning he had not appeared and she *knew* that he had not come home; but still, she rang City South – no, he wasn’t in – and then the boarding house in Northcote, but his housekeeper simply said that he was away and she wasn’t sure when to expect him back.

Finally she called the Yallourn station again, and received the same answer – that the Inspector was unavailable – but perhaps Detective-sergeant Willis could help her, as he was currently there?

When he came on the line and she asked for the whereabouts of Inspector Robinson, the man hesitated, before saying that he was not available, and was there anything that he might do for her?

“No… it’s personal… I really must speak with the Inspector…”

Again, she heard the man hesitate. “I probably shouldn’t be saying anything…”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, miss, but the Inspector is in the hospital…”

Phryne’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the mouthpiece. “Hospital? What happened?”

“Uh… he was injured, on Wednesday night… Look, I really shouldn’t be discussing this with you. Perhaps you should telephone the hospital…”

“In Yallourn?”

“Sure. It’s a brand-spanking place down the road…”

She disconnected quickly, then asked the operator to put her through, but although the nurse who answered was able to confirm that John Robinson was a patient, she would not go into any details, and told Phryne that the doctor who might was currently operating on a patient, and might be a half-hour, or several.

That decided Phryne. She left a message asking that the doctor return her call, then turned to Mr Butler and Dot, who had both now appeared in the entry, having realised from their employer’s increasingly frantic demeanour, that something was very wrong.

Mr Butler rushed off to get the car ready and pack a hamper, while Dot flung clothes into a trunk as Phryne dressed for the road.

As Phryne raced out the door, she suddenly turned back to the two of them. “Don’t say anything to Hugh, just yet… until I know what’s going on… Perhaps it’s really not that serious… and after what happened to his father…” Dot nodded; Miss Phryne was right, there was no point in worrying him. She knew that her fiancé looked up to the Inspector as more than just a superior officer; although the man wasn’t quite old enough to be Hugh’s father, he was a kindly man, and had seemingly taken him under his wing in both a professional and personal sense.

Dot couldn’t remember having seen Miss Phryne so frantic, except perhaps when Jane was missing, and it frightened her a little. Of course everyone was aware that there was a connection between the lady detective and her Constabulary counterpart, and that lately they seemed to have eyes only for each other, but it was not the place of any of them to say anything. She hoped desperately that the he was alright, as she fingered the cross that hung around her neck. She would go now and pray for the Inspector’s good health; and also that Miss Phryne would arrive in Yallourn in one piece.

Phryne roared down the road, with absolutely no regard for any speed limits, for some time. After a while, however, Jack’s voice filtered through the fog in her brain, and she took some deep, calming breaths, and modified her pace a little. There was a time and place to take heed of his concern regarding her driving, and it was definitely now, when the unknown road was wet with rain, and she needed to be there, for him.

As she drove she put her hand up, and pulled her wedding ring out from where it was now hanging on a chain around her neck, and although it wasn’t on her finger, just the fact that it was there at all comforted her.

At Dandenong she stopped and telephoned home, but the doctor had not called.

She stopped at Pakenham, and again at Warragul, but still no word.

Finally, after hours of driving through hills and flats, forest and farmland, she arrived in Yallourn, and found the hospital without difficulty. However, the shocked look on the doctor’s face, as he shook the hand of the flustered woman in front of him, did not bode well.

“Miss Fisher… I telephoned your home only” he looked at his watch, “twenty minutes ago.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Mr Robinson is no longer in the care of this hospital.”

She waited, relieved, to find out from where she could collect him.

“Arrangements were made earlier this morning for him to be transported to Melbourne. In fact,” he looked at his watch again, “by now they’re probably only an hour or so out of the city.”

She stared at him, dumbly, and he seemed unsure of how to proceed.

“I felt that there was nothing further that could be done for him here… It was best that he be sent down to the Melbourne Hospital to be near his family… although I imagine that they will only move him on to the Caulfield Convalescent…”

“What?” Phryne was utterly confused. “Why didn’t he tell me, or get someone else to tell me? What exactly *are* his injuries?”

“Unfortunately, Miss Fisher, I’m not in a position to discuss that with you… If you *are* a friend of his, then I suggest that you speak with his family.”

Phryne lost it then, and stamped her foot. She was exhausted from the drive, and becoming more overwrought by the second. She grabbed the ring on its chain and held it up before the man’s face, looking at him in anguish. “I am his *wife*. Hasn’t he mentioned me at all?”

It was the doctor’s turn to be confused. “I was told that Mr Robinson is divorced…”

“Not *that* one! The current one…”

He regarded her a little suspiciously. “No-one has made any mention of you…”

“We’ve only been married since last Saturday! It was a secret… We were going to tell everyone when he came home…”

Understanding passed across the doctor’s face, and he looked at her regretfully. “Miss Fisher… or rather, Mrs Robinson–“

“Fisher-Robinson” she corrected him.

“Please sit down.”

“Why?” Suddenly she felt very afraid, but the look on his face told her to do as he suggested.

“Mrs Fisher-Robinson… if that is indeed who you are… and I really ought not to be speaking with you without proof of that, but I’m inclined to believe you…” He gave her a long, searching look. “I’m afraid that your husband has sustained a head injury which has affected him in a number of ways… One of which is some memory loss…”

“Memory loss? What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, as it stands, and as far as I could establish… it seems that the last thing he remembers happened in October last year.”

“Last year?” Time seemed to slow and she felt strangely disoriented. She tried to stand, but immediately swayed, and the doctor pushed her gently back into her seat, before calling to a nurse for some water.

For long moments she stared at the man, trying to gather her thoughts, before gulping down some of the water, and pulling herself together.

“He will be alright, though? I mean, it *will* come back to him, soon enough?”

He hesitated a moment. “All I can tell you, is that he has shown improvement in the three days he was here… It’s impossible to predict what might happen… It could all come flooding back tomorrow, or in a month, or possibly never… But, regardless, he’s facing a long recovery, and with his head stitched there was little point in keeping him up here when he stands a better chance with family and friends close by…”

He did not want to shock her too greatly, especially having realised that she now faced a long drive home, alone, but he had explained that Jack had been hit on the head with a pipe during a scuffle, and that, as a result, he was suffering from some paralysis in the right side of his body, and the memory loss.

He felt terribly sorry for her, as he watched her try to take it in, and he directed her to a telephone, and watched while she called and told someone that she would be on her way home shortly. By then she seemed to have rallied, and he left her, but not before charging a nurse with taking her to the dining room, and ensuring that she ate lunch before departing.

Phryne’s head was strangely blank as she drove, trying not to think of Jack, just concentrating on the road and the trees and the telegraph poles.

When she finally reached Melbourne in the late afternoon, she drove directly to the hospital and marched in with her head held high. Everything would be alright once she saw him; then she would know what to do.

However, it was not to be, as she was told, in no uncertain terms, that Mr Robinson would not be allowed any visitors that day; that even his family was barred whilst the doctors assessed his condition. No amount of begging or pleading could induce the matron to change her mind, and Phryne was sent home to wallow in her uncertainty.

As she ate an early breakfast the next morning, Hugh telephoned in a panic, City South station having finally been notified that the Inspector would not be returning in the short term. Phryne spoke to him, using all of the arguments that she had used on herself to calm him. Jack was strong, healthy, and had the support of all of them, and *she* would be going to visit him today.

When she arrived at the hospital, however, she was thwarted once again. The matron of the ward told her that she was under strictest orders to ensure that he could only have one visitor at a time, and currently his mother was with him. Phryne said that she would wait, for any opportunity that arose to see him, and the matron grudgingly left her to do so, recognising that telling her to go home was a fruitless exercise.

With patience that was most unlike her, she waited all day, jumping up every now and then to accost a passing nurse, desperately hoping that Jack’s mother might have had to leave his side, even if only to have some lunch. She had no such luck, though, and eventually she was told to leave; that visiting hours were over, and that Jack’s mother had left ten minutes before.

She begged to see him, but to no avail; the doctors made the rules, and the nurses must police them. She asked to see the doctor, but was told that he was unavailable. If she wished to see Mr Robinson, it was suggested that she come back tomorrow.

She was up and ready early the next morning, determined to be at the hospital before visiting hours began. Upon seeing her, the matron smiled at her, but did not allow her in early. However, the moment the minute hand passed the twelve, Phryne was up, and the woman let her pass, but with a hissed warning that she was *not* to wake him if he were sleeping, which he most likely was, as she had observed that he currently did little else.

For the moment he was in a small room, with only three other occupants, but the nurse who had shown her in drew the curtain around the bed to allow Phryne a modicum of privacy; not that there was much it could do, though, except shield her tormented face from prying eyes.

For a long moment she just stood, looking down at him in the ironwork bed. His head was bandaged, his face covered in stubble, and although she knew perfectly well what he looked like naked, he seemed thinner somehow, laid out here in white cotton sheets.

Jack woke to the smell of French perfume, which seemed a little odd, as he was sure that he was still in hospital. Yes, certain in fact, which meant that there was only one reason that that scent was filling his nostrils.

He rubbed at his face with his left hand, and opened his eyes to find Miss Fisher looking at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Fisher…”

Her face fell, and although he didn’t know why she had reacted that way to his words, frankly it didn’t concern him; it was enough to him that he had been able to say them at all.

When he had first woken in the Yallourn hospital, having no idea of where he was or what he was doing there, he had found that he was unable to speak. Not because he was having trouble finding the words, but simply because his mouth just would not co-operate. It had not taken him much longer to realise that not only was his face partially paralysed, but also his right arm and right leg.

Now, at least, days later, his face felt less numb, and he was able to speak coherently, if with a little difficulty; and although his leg still seemed utterly foreign to the rest of his body, he could at least twitch the fingers of his right hand, and generally feel the weight of something touching it, if not the actual sensation.

That was what alerted him to the fact that Miss Fisher was holding his hand, and he looked at her fingers with some puzzlement; it seemed rather inappropriate, even if she was here to wish him well.

With his left hand and leg he braced and dragged his body into a more upright position, then used the same hand to retrieve his right from her grasp, and fold it against his stomach, out of her reach.

He spoke slowly and carefully, trying his best not to slur his words. “Well, Miss Fisher… it looks as though you’re going to have to find another Inspector to annoy…”

He closed his eyes as he saw hers turn liquid.

“Don’t be silly, Jack… We’re a team, remember?”

He sighed, and she suddenly wondered. “What *is* the last thing that you remember us doing together?”

He thought for a moment. “We’re in the middle of investigating the death of your teacher, Miss Lavender. I had just given the file to Dot with the story in it, and I asked you what Miss Lavender was like. ‘Cold as a halibut on ice’, you said… The last thing I remember is leaving your house when Mr Lin arrived…”

Phryne sucked in a breath; things were much worse than she thought. Not only could he *not* remember the relationship that they had built together since then, but as far as he was concerned, she was involved with someone else. But the doctor at Yallourn had told her not to push Jack, or fill in the details for him, as it may just create memories that didn’t actually exist.

He would have to draw those things out of his mind for himself, and the thought was like a blade in her heart – until then, she was almost nothing to him. So many things had happened since to forge their bond; Murdoch Foyle, their estrangement after Gertie’s death, his coming to her rescue in Maiden Creek, and that terrible business with his former father-in-law. She had no idea whether he had been told of that, but she could only hope that he was aware that he was no longer legally married to Rosie.

Jack continued. “At least… well, I know now that those things happened eleven months ago, but as far as I’m concerned, it feels like only days ago… The doctors say that hopefully I should eventually remember for myself… but at least tell me we got our man… or woman…”

She smiled at him, as she tried to stop the tremor in her lip. “Don’t we always get our man?... And yes, it was a man… And you *will* remember.”

She reached out and patted at his thigh in a comforting manner, an action which he would not have known was happening if he had not seen it. It seemed a strangely intimate gesture, and although he had become used to Miss Fisher’s flirtatious touches, it was a little much for him, and made him a little cross. He looked at her hand. “You do know that I can’t feel that?”

She snatched her hand away as if it had been burned. Yes, he thought with grim satisfaction, now she really knows that I’m a cripple, and she’ll be beating a hasty retreat, if she knows what’s good for her… And the sooner, the better. He could not add her pity to that he was going to face from the rest of his family, his friends, his colleagues.

He slid himself back down the bed a little way. “Well, thank you for coming, Miss Fisher, but I really am very tired…”

It was a dismissal, and she knew it, and although she was desperate to spend more time with him, she didn’t want to push him too far today, so she simply said “Of course…”

She stood, leaning across to kiss the top of his head, which, again, he found to be far too cosy for comfort, and he closed his eyes and addressed her.

“I appreciate you taking the time to come and see me… but please don’t come again.”

“Jack! Of course I’ll come again!”

He opened his eyes and looked directly at her, and his voice was as stern as he could make it with his unco-operative lips. “Miss Fisher… I have a difficult time ahead of me, and if you don’t mind I would like to spend it in the manner of my choosing, with my family.”

It was horrifyingly final, and her voice came out as something of a strangled whisper. “You really don’t want me to come again?”

He nodded slowly in affirmation. “I think it would be best.”

She had left then, before she broke down in the face of his rejection; but he had seen her struggle, and wondered at it, as she always seemed so impervious to hurt and disappointment; except perhaps where that René Dubois was concerned… But besides, he prompted himself, she had plenty of other amusements in her life, and if it wasn’t Lin Chung it would be someone else. As far as Jack’s brain was concerned, he had only known her for a little under four months – who knew how she had been ‘distracting’ herself in the eleven months he had lost?

Phryne didn’t start hyperventilating until she was safely in her car. He had looked at her with only that cool reserve that she had pushed her way past long ago, and then, he had not only asked her to leave, but not to come back. The brief visit had left her feeling raw, and she struggled to get a grip on her emotions. Beatrice had had the right idea – where was a cool, marble column when you needed one on which to rest your forehead?

Instead, she gripped the steering wheel with her hands, and bent her head over to press her forehead against its top. She spent several long moments inhaling deeply, before scolding herself and sitting bolt upright.

This was ridiculous. Of course Jack was confused, wary. In fact this must be absolutely terrifying for him, a man who had survived the Great War physically intact, but had now been seriously injured, both physically and mentally, whilst doing the job he did because he believed in justice.

Phryne needed to stop being so silly and get a grip. Of course she would visit him again, and he would, no doubt, become fitter by the day. She was sure his memories would return at some stage, and in the meantime, there must be things that she could do to help him. Then, if he still hadn’t figured things out for himself, she just had to come up with a way to break the news to him gently.

Over the coming days she busied herself contacting all sorts of people, and obtaining and absorbing medical texts from Mac that related to brain injuries, memory loss, and paralysis. Every day, twice per day, she rang to check on Jack’s progress. On the third day, a kindly nurse told her that he had been sent out to the Caulfield Convalescent Hospital, and Phryne decided that, after a change of scenery, it might be the perfect time to try and see Jack again.

It had been distressing to her, staying away from him when all she wanted was to be with him, and she knew that she was acting a little out of character; but everyone she knew seemed not to question her behaviour, and she wondered exactly how obvious it had been that the two of them were in love. Blindingly obvious, if the way people now walked on eggshells around her was any indication. Still, she said nothing of their marriage; if Jack was in the dark then everyone else could stay that way too.

It was Friday afternoon, and she had previously planned to stop at the confectioners that morning and buy some of his favourite chocolates, but she had had a sudden inspiration, and instead had bought some cold pork pies, and asked Mr Butler if he could make up a potato gratin, and some ham, cheese and pickle sandwiches.

Armed with her hamper, she took a deep breath, before striding purposefully onto the ward. She was also wearing her ring on its correct finger – although her gloves were still on – and she had their ‘Certificate of Marriage’ in an envelope in her handbag. She was utterly prepared.

Except for the sight that greeted her when she came upon his bed.

A man and woman whom Phryne didn’t know were standing beside it, and seated to his left was Rosie, clutching his left hand.

“Miss Fisher.” Rosie was clearly unhappy to see her, and had reverted to formal address.

“Rosie.” Phryne chose not to respond in kind. “Are you well?”

Jack was astonished. They knew each other? And well enough to have formed an opinion of each other if the atmosphere in the room was anything to go by. He wondered under what circumstances they had met, and formed this ‘relationship’. Had something happened before his divorce to Rosie had been finalised? Had he given in to Miss Fisher’s temptations?

It seemed unlikely; although it had been a long process, he would have known that it was only a matter of time until his sixteen years of marriage came to an end. Besides, a woman like Phryne Fisher would have eaten him alive – still he couldn’t help the stab of jealously at him memory of Lin turning up like that in Miss Fisher’s parlour, just when their conversation was getting interesting…

“As well as can be expected…” Rosie’s voice was bitter – there was clearly something going on of which Jack was completely unaware, and he felt like he was standing in a gaping abyss, watching the two women on either side. Rosie’s hand tightened around his, and he pulled his own away, on the pretence of using it to adjust his position; her contact suddenly felt wrong, as if he were doing something forbidden, and Miss Fisher was looking at him searchingly.

Rosie masked her own discomfort at Jack’s actions by turning and directing Phryne’s attention to the two strangers. “This is Jack’s cousin, Mr Edward Robinson…”

‘Ah,’ thought Phryne, ‘quite possibly the son of Uncle Ted, from whom Jack had inherited his coin collection as a boy’.

“… and his wife, Patricia,”

Phryne stepped across and did the unexpected, shaking the hand of each of them as Rosie went on, “… and *this* is the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.” They both gaped at her, as Rosie continued, “And as you can see, Miss Fisher, now is not the best time for a visit. What Jack needs right now is to be with his family…”

Phryne was not used to being on the back foot, and she found herself floundering. Under normal circumstances she would have fought back, had some biting reply, but she found that she had nothing to say that wouldn’t reveal more to Jack than was appropriate right now.

Phryne turned to Jack, and she was looking at him pleadingly, but he really wasn’t sure what she might be expecting him to say; and Rosie was right, the only people he wanted to see in his current condition were his family, and he *had* already asked Miss Fisher to stay away. So, he returned her gaze levelly, and she stammered “Well… I… I hope that you’re feeling a little better, Jack… and I know that being in hospital is not very nice, and the food… well… so I brought you this…”

She held up the hamper, looking around for somewhere to put it, before Rosie reached across the bed and took it from her. Once her hands were freed, Jack noticed that her right hand started tensely manipulating one of the fingers of her left; it was most unlike her to be so unnerved. “Uh… yes, well, Rosie is right… Now is not the best time…”

She turned back to Jack, and he was surprised to note that her eyes were moist. She leaned down to gently squeeze at the tingling fingers of his right hand. “Jack, if there’s anything that you need… anything at all…”

“I’m not sure that Jack needs anything else from *you*, Miss Fisher.”

Rosie’s rather harsh words surprised Jack, and he admonished her, sternly, “Rosie!”

It was the first word he had spoken since Miss Fisher had arrived, and it seemed to startle all those present, before Phryne flicked a thankful, but liquid, glance in his direction, and turned away, the clicking of her heels receding quickly as she fled the scene.

Jack looked at Rosie crossly, but she didn’t seem to notice as she settled herself back into the chair beside the bed.

“That woman really is a piece of work… Perhaps now she’ll stop bothering you…”

Jack really hoped that things would start coming back to him soon; he hated being in the dark this way. If it were only his case work that he could not remember, things would not be so bad, but this business with Rosie and Miss Fisher was very unsettling – and it wasn’t just that.

Of course his mother had had to explain to him, when he had first come down from Yallourn, that in the time that had passed since his memories ended, he and Rosie had finally, legally, gone their separate ways, a little over nine months ago. However, since he had first been allowed more than one visitor, Rosie had come every day, and been not only civil, but really rather pleasant towards him. It had not escaped his notice, though, that there was a strange tension in the room whenever she was there.

Also, when he had asked after her father and sister, she had hesitated before saying that they were both well, but had not elaborated further, other than to vaguely intimate that George was away somewhere for a while. Jack *had* thought it a little strange that neither he nor the Chief Commissioner had been to see him, as it was standard practice when an officer was badly injured in the line of duty, but if George was on holiday then he supposed that the Chief would be busier than usual. It was unlike George, though, to take any extended leave, as the man had high hopes of becoming Chief Commissioner himself one day. He had always told Jack that only once that goal had been achieved would he be able to take some time for himself.

Other than those things, of course, Jack knew that he had ‘missed’ birthdays, last Christmas, and any number of other events, possibly including deaths of which he had not yet been told. However, what he did know was that he now had a five month old niece, who had been brought briefly to visit this morning, and was happy and healthy and terribly sweet.

If there was one mercy in all of this, it was that he and Rosie had never had children; life was going to be hard enough for him from now on.

Phryne bolted to her car, started it, and pulled out into the road with barely a glance, as she tried desperately not to cry. What good would that do? She drove home the long way, forcing her breath out between gritted teeth, calming herself enough that she had the presence of mind to put her ring back on its chain before she went into the house.

She was still feeling vulnerable though, and when she heard laughter in the kitchen as Mr B took her coat, she followed him there rather than retreating, alone, to the parlour.

Bert, Cec and Dot could all see that things had not gone well on her visit to the hospital, and no-one spoke of it, as they all tucked into tea and fresh scones with lashings of jam and cream. Phryne didn’t participate in their conversation, but she was glad to sit back and bask in the companionship they had all come to share, as she tried desperately not to dwell on Jack’s situation and things, as they stood, between the two of them.

They were almost through the pile of scones when Hugh appeared at the kitchen door, looking pale and rather concerned. He fetched a chair from out in the fernery and sat, gratefully digging into what was left of the baked goods.

“I stopped by to visit the Inspector just now when I finished my shift… It’s horrible isn’t it?... I mean, he wasn’t horrible, but I haven’t had a chance to visit before and I really didn’t think it would be that bad… But I didn’t really get to talk to him because his, uh… Miss Sanderson… was there…”

The others looked at each other and tried not to look at Miss Fisher. *That* would go a long way towards explaining why she had returned from the hospital looking so sombre. Dot tried to change the subject, but Hugh forged ahead, with a mouthful of scone, heedless of her prompting.

“And the fellas from the Police Association came by the station today, and they’re saying that he won’t be back… that he’ll be pensioned out… and that will be really bad… because he’s not *totally* permanently disabled, just *partially* permanently disabled… and that means his pension will only be between a third and half of his usual wage… Isn’t that awful, Dottie?... It’s lucky he doesn’t have any kids… Anyway O’Connell says that the best thing he could do is to go back to his wife… I mean, Miss Sanderson… so that she can look after him… because the church doesn’t recognise divorce and they’re still married under God… Ouch!”

Phryne felt all of the blood drain from her face, and she fled the room as Hugh tried valiantly not to choke as he rubbed at his shin, which had sustained kicks from multiple directions, and cowered under the dark looks he was receiving. Of course he realised he’d been an idiot, but he wasn’t insensitive, he just really, really needed to start thinking before he spoke.

Phryne had only reached as far as the parlour, and was sitting on the chaise staring blankly at the ring, which she had pulled out from under her blouse. With one solid yank she pulled down, and the chain broke at a weak link, and fell forgotten to the floor. She twisted the sparkling band onto her finger, and closed her eyes, wishing herself far away.

She had not heard the doorbell in her stupor, and Mr Butler had admitted Raymond – who was holding a wrapped present and a folder – thinking that perhaps her childhood friend might cheer her. Before he could introduce him, Raymond had already started speaking, so he retreated to make coffee.

“Phryne, darling, why so glum?”

She opened her eyes and stared at him, blinking slowly.

“I telephoned on Sunday, but your man,” he indicated the direction in which Mr Butler had departed, “said you were busy… and I expect you were... *busy*.” He winked, but Phryne’s expression did not change, and he was suddenly a little unnerved, but proceeded nonetheless.

He put on a cheery expression and sat beside her, presenting her with the wrapped box. “Here… In spite of the fact that you gave *no* notice, a gift is customary in these circumstances…”

Phryne felt as though it were not her own hands that were pulling at the paper, and lifting the lid of the box beneath; and Raymond wondered why on earth her fingers were trembling. He was watching her face, and her expression had not changed at all since he had arrived, which, even for a man as scatter-brained as himself, had now become seriously disturbing.

She lifted the expensive silver frame from its velvet cushion and stared at the photograph within, as the box and wrapping paper fell to the floor.

God, she had been so stupid. Why did she always have to be so impetuous, to kick against everything and everyone whether or not they were an obstacle? *She* had done this, and Jack had followed her blindly, because he loved her, and he had not wanted to risk the possibility that she had offered him a chance she would never offer again. Hah! How foolish she had been. Jack hadn’t deserved that, it was just another one of her games, and she had thought that it had ended well… until all this had happened.

Why hadn’t she just stuck with telling him that she loved him? Why hadn’t she said that they had all the time in the world, because she could no longer imagine being with anyone else when he was around?... And then, even if they had agreed to marry, why had it been necessary to take it so far? They could have had a short engagement, they would have told all of their family and friends… Instead she had done what she had done, so that she could feel that she wasn’t just doing as everyone else did… So it would be exciting… The prospect of marrying Jack should have been exciting enough!

Now no-one knew of her torment… Jack didn’t even know that she had a reason to be so unhappy…

What if he never regained his memories? What if he never remembered how they had loved each other? What if all he wanted was to settle back down into some sort of life with Rosie and pretend that their legal separation had never happened?

What if those few days that she and he had had were all that she would *ever* have with him? As if he were dead… but he would be living, and she would have to watch him go on as if *they* had never existed.

Everything that she had been fighting against welled up inside her, and she lost the will to continue the struggle. For a long moment she forgot to breathe, and then, from some place deep within her, came a terrible sound that she would not later remember making.

Mr Butler arrived with the others at his heels, to find Miss Fisher sobbing hysterically into Raymond’s chest, as he vainly tried to comfort her with a look of bewildered horror. Mr B leapt forward to catch the silver frame that was about to hit the floor, and as he did, noticed two things within a very short moment. Firstly, that his mistress was suddenly wearing that diamond and orange sapphire ring that she had bought recently, on the third finger of her left hand. Secondly, that the framed photograph he was holding was of the Inspector and Miss Fisher dancing closely, although they were not wearing evening clothes; and there, where her left hand rested on his shoulder was that same ring, on that same finger.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack, and no doubt the others in the room, gaped at the man across from him in bewildered disbelief. Rosie gave a sort of horrified squeak as the man’s gaze pinned her, and she moved bodily away from her former husband.

Jack found his voice. “There must be some mistake…”

Felix looked at him, seriously, but kindly.

“Inspector Robinson,” he felt that it would be disrespectful to use anything other than that title, even though he may not be a police officer for much longer, “I can assure you that there is no mistake.”

Once Phryne had exhausted herself crying, and was lying limply on the chaise, blissfully unaware of anything – she had also been pressed into taking two powders and a brandy – Raymond and the others had apprised each other of what they knew, and the full horror of the situation had become apparent.

At first, as she had cried unrestrainedly in his arms, Raymond had wondered whether the Inspector had done something wrong by her, and hoped against hope that it wasn’t true, as he had felt that he ought to *do* something if he had, but he had not thought that he would last more than a few seconds if pitted against the other man. On reflection, he had then decided that, surely, it could not be the case, as Jack seemed an honourable man, and Raymond had wished that he could somehow capture, for his movies, the intense love that was almost a tangible thing between his friend and her policeman.

He had been absolutely aghast to learn of what had happened to Jack, and had been truly heartsick for his darling friend, who might have been vain, impetuous, and more than a little cocky, but was also a caring and fiercely loyal creature, who did not deserve such unhappiness.

She had her household to comfort her, and no doubt Mrs Stanley would become involved in due course, but for the time being Raymond had felt that, as the only other constant male in her life, it was up to *him* to come up with a plan…… Clara would know what to do.

She had sent him to Felix… and now Felix was here, in the parlour of the Inspector’s father and mother.

Once Mr Hirsch had explained the situation, and the next day Felix had discussed what was to be done with his client and her friend, he had contacted the Caulfield Convalescent to establish the best time to call on the Inspector.

He had been told that, in fact, Mr Robinson was being sent home with his parents on the following day, as there had been little they could do for him other than fit him for a leg brace, and teach him to use crutches with his barely-functioning right arm and hand.

Jack’s parents’ names had been on the Certificate of Marriage, and it had not been difficult for Felix to locate them from there. With Phryne’s agreement, he had waited, and given Jack that Sunday to settle in, before ‘phoning on the Monday afternoon. Mr Robinson senior had been reluctant to bring his son to the telephone, but finally Felix had been able to speak to Jack, who, as expected, did not know who he was. He had questioned why the solicitor would need to see him, but Felix would only state his purpose in person, and Jack had agreed to meet with him on the Tuesday evening.

When Felix had arrived, he had been shown into the parlour by Mr Robinson to ‘meet’ his son. Jack had been polite, but without a flicker of recognition, and although Felix had been anticipating that, he was disheartened nonetheless. In his current state Jack had said that he would prefer that others were present while they talked, which Felix had thought wise, although he had not expected the father, the mother, and the former wife, Miss Sanderson; although on that front, he had thought that she was in for a rather rude shock.

“Inspector, I’m sure that you’re wondering why I’m here, and I’ve been fully apprised of your situation, so I will get straight to the point.”

Jack had had absolutely no idea what the solicitor might want of him, or who could possibly have passed on details of his injuries, but he had wanted to hear what the man had to say, so he had not interrupted.

“I have been retained by my client to assist you, in whatever way you require… but in order to do so, I will need to give you some information that may be… unexpected.”

Felix had looked at Jack as though he were waiting for permission to continue, and Jack had taken a moment to respond.

“Who *is* your client?”

Felix had shrugged internally – two birds and all that… “Your wife...”

Jack had looked at Rosie, and she had given a slight shake of her head, even as Felix was still speaking.

“Phryne Fisher… or rather, Phryne Fisher-Robinson.”

That had been the point when Jack had stated that Felix must be mistaken, and upon his assertion that there was no mistake, Rosie had moved away.

Jack’s father was the first to come to his senses. “Are you trying to tell us that *my son* has been married without the knowledge of his family?... It’s not possible, Jack would not have done that…”

“No,” Rosie interjected, “Jack would not have done that of his own accord, but it’s *exactly* the sort of thing that Miss Fisher might have encouraged him to do…”

Jack was still astonished; his father was right – surely he would not have been married without the knowledge of his family and friends? When had it happened, and under what circumstances would he have done such a thing? He asked; but Felix could not give him all of the answers.

“The only two people who have knowledge of the events leading up to the marriage itself, are yourself and Phryne. As I understand it, though, it was not a secret because it was meant to be *hidden* from your loved ones, it was just an experience that the two of you wanted *for yourselves*, and you had every intention of sharing it on the Tuesday after it occurred, being the first of October. Then, of course, on the evening of Monday the thirtieth of September, you were sent to Yallourn, and the plan had to change; you decided that you would keep it to yourselves until you were together again upon your return…”

But Jack hadn’t returned, and now he felt sick to his stomach thinking of Miss Fisher, and his bad behaviour towards her, and how she must have been feeling; must still be feeling…

“The ceremony itself occurred on the afternoon of Saturday the twenty-eighth – here in Melbourne – and I was one of the witnesses… and of course, when I came here tonight, I had hoped that perhaps you might recognise me…”

Jack acknowledged that with a sad nod of his head. Although things had greatly improved for him over the last few days, the solicitor was a complete stranger to him.

Physically speaking he was improving by the day. His face felt almost normal, and although his fingers refused to grip anything, he had enough feeling in his right arm and hand that, with a modified crutch that held the hand in place, he was able to move slowly about; unfortunately, his leg still stubbornly refused to acknowledge that it was even there.

Mentally, he felt strangely as though he were inside a glass bottle, looking out and seeing colours and vague shapes, but unable to ascertain what they were, without having the foreknowledge of what he was looking at. Every now and then something would swim briefly into focus, and he would try to latch onto it and keep it. Just this morning, when he had seen his nephew who had come dressed as a pirate, things had started filtering through – treasure… coins… a dagger… himself, in his scratchy bathing suit, on the beach… with Collins?... Yes, and Miss Fisher and Miss Williams… A case, then? Why else would he have been there?

Over the course of several hours he had returned to those images, and managed to build on them – a murdered husband and wife… that girl that Miss Fisher had taken in… Jane… Jane Ross… and Aunt P… ‘Aunt P?’ Since when had he stopped calling her ‘Mrs Stanley’… Then, sitting on a chaise, in a bedroom, with Miss Fisher… There was champagne… rum… She was dangling a pocket watch by its chain…

It had made him feel sleepy, and that had been the end of that train of thought, but at least it was something.

Still, there was so much that people were not telling him, and if this was to be a permanent condition, he had a mind to go and read a back-copy of ‘The Argus’ for every day that his brain refused to acknowledge.

He asked Felix “Who was the other witness?”

“Raymond Hirsch.”

“He’s afraid of spiders.” Jack had no idea where that had come from; his mouth had simply spoken before his brain had caught up. “But I have no idea who he is, sorry...”

Felix smirked. “Well, at least that’s a start. Being only marginally acquainted with Mr Hirsch, I cannot acknowledge that as fact, but from what I know of him I am inclined to believe that you are right.”

Jack couldn’t help grinning at that; and the knowledge must have come from somewhere, so perhaps Mr Hirsch’s likeness would surface in time.

Felix opened a folder, and passed a paper to Jack.

‘Certificate of Marriage’.

It was all there – their names, birthplaces, ages; ‘Conjugal Condition’, where the date of he and Rosie’s ‘Order Absolute’ was shown beneath his status as a divorced bachelor; their usual addresses, which showed his as the address he knew to be a boarding house where he had been living in Northcote; his occupation; their parents’ names and fathers’ occupations – hers listed as ‘Gentleman’. Interesting; having met Mrs Stanley he had supposed that Phryne must come from a wealthy family, but he knew nothing of her parents, and her birthplace was shown as Collingwood. Miss Fisher was a mystery indeed.

But then, he supposed that he must surely *know* these things, as he had married her. And yes, he *had* married her; it was undoubtedly his handwriting on the first line of the ‘Signature of Parties’.

Then there was the photograph that Felix passed him next.

He and Miss Fisher, standing on some sort of grand-looking staircase, looking terribly proper, their postures ramrod straight, and the diagonal line created by the row of buttons on her light-coloured suit, and the large sparkling brooch, reminiscent of the sashes and Orders worn by royalty. And yet, in contrast, they were both smiling gentle smiles, with sparkling eyes; and although they were both looking directly at the camera, each of their faces was tilted ever so slightly towards the other, as if they would turn and their eyes would meet the instant the shutter clicked.

“Mr Hirsch took these photographs, that afternoon…” Felix passed Jack another; this one of the two of them looking far more relaxed, Miss Fisher without hat or gloves, laughing unrestrainedly at something he had said. It must have been very funny, as her head was tilted slightly back as she looked up him, and she was bent slightly at knees and hips, leaning into him as he grinned back down at her, with his left arm firmly around her waist, and his right hand at her left elbow as she gripped his shoulder, a sparkling band that must have been a half-inch wide clearly visible.

There was absolutely no mistaking the fact that the two people in the photograph adored each other, and Jack could still barely believe that he was one of them; but he looked so happy, so free, and if she had made him feel that way after the darkness that had followed him since the war, then he could believe that *that* must have been what made him act so uncharacteristically. In that image he looked like a different person, and as he passed it to his mother and heard her intake of breath, he knew that she saw it too.

So many things made sense now.

The paper bag that had contained the clothes in which he was injured had included socks and undergarments that seemed brand new and rather expensive, and Jack had thought perhaps there had been a mix-up; but they appeared to be in his size, and they smelled like his. But then his overnight case had only contained the type that he usually wore, and in fairly poor condition.

The mystery had deepened when he had opened his wallet, only to find that it contained notes to the value of thirty-eight pounds, five shillings. How on earth had he come to have such a sum on his person – more than a month’s pay – and whilst he was travelling for work, no less? As he could not account for it, he had been fearful of spending it, and had not yet mentioned it to anyone.

Then there was the fact that the hamper Miss Fisher had brought to the Convalescent Hospital had contained not only pork pies, and potato gratin – which he had been sure was meant to remind him of that day she had fed it to him at his desk – but also several rounds of sandwiches containing the very best ham, cheese and mustard pickle. He was quite sure that he had never had any reason to share his favourite fillings with her, so it must have been coincidence.

Now he knew that it had not been. She had *known* and had brought him comforting food, only to be effectively turned away by Rosie’s unkind words, and his own inability to respond to her. He thought of the way she had twisted her fingers, and it was perfectly clear to him now that she had been tensely manipulating her wedding band under her glove.

Jack was feeling worse by the second, and Felix must have seen it in his face, and cleared his throat. “Obviously, this is… a difficult situation… Of course my client is hoping for a positive outcome here, that you will regain your memory so that the two of you can continue your lives together… However, we felt that it was for the best that you be told as soon as possible… and she wanted you to know, that if you don’t, and if you decide that it’s what you want, she will ensure that a divorce is quickly and easily effected.”

Jack’s father cut in. “What about an annulment? He clearly can’t remember, it’s as if it never happened!”

“Unfortunately, simply not remembering is not grounds for an annulment, Mr Robinson. Your son did not have an existing medical condition to impair him at the time, neither party was under any sort of duress, and, uh, consummation of the marriage is not in question…”

“How do you know?” his father bit back.

Felix cleared his throat. “Well, uh… the newlyweds occupied a suite at the Hotel Windsor for two-and-a-half days, and I’m under the impression that any number of staff might testify to their, uh, intimacy…”

Everyone deliberately *did not* look at Jack, and he was thankful as he felt his face reddening. It was true that Miss Fisher was a very attractive – in fact, downright seductive – woman, but he could not imagine *himself* in her arms, skin-to-skin, let alone anything else. What could he possibly give her in comparison to men like Lin Chung and Sasha de Lisse, who were so self-assured, and made no secret of their interest in her ‘charms’. Jack had no idea, but she had *married* him, and he could only imagine that they had been lovers prior to that; would she have done so otherwise? Chained herself to a man who could not please her? It seemed unlikely…

Felix cleared his throat again. “So, for the time being, I am charged with providing you with some things that may assist you.” He removed a fat envelope from his folder, and passed it to Jack. “That is two-hundred-and-fifty Pounds to be going on with,” Jack’s eyebrows rose, “as I’m sure that you’ll have expenses. Mrs Fisher-Robinson has also confirmed that you are to be entitled to a weekly cash income of sixty Pounds,” Rosie made a rather strangled noise in the background, “and of course you may write a cheque at any time.” Those he passed to Jack next.

“If you should require any further cash, or use of a safe deposit box, you need only present yourself at ‘The English, Scottish and Australian Bank’ – the Manager there has met you, and has been made aware of your circumstances.” Jack could only nod, dumbly. “Here is a list of the stores at which Mrs Fisher-Robinson holds an account, and to which you have been added… And here… is the document confirming your change of name.”

Jack’s father choked on the whisky he had just poured for himself.

“*My* change of name?”

Jack was confused, but the solicitor only gave him a slight nod, as though he shouldn’t have been surprised. “It’s not at all uncommon for a man marrying into the upper classes to take on his wife’s name… So, legally speaking, you *are* now known as ‘John Fisher-Robinson’, however you can change it back again, if you decide…” he trailed off rather uncomfortably; Felix really was hoping for a good outcome, even if it took some time.

He moved on. “Now. Your wife has made some enquiries, and she has arranged for a doctor who specialises in injuries of this type to come down from Sydney to see you… He’ll be here next week, and I’ll be in contact as soon as he arrives…” Jack’s mother smiled with relief, and leaned across to squeeze her son’s tingling fingers.

Jack tried to take it all in. “I suppose that I ought to see her… Miss Fisher… I mean, uh, Phryne…”

The solicitor gave him a long, hard look. “That is entirely up to you, of course, however… might I suggest that you don’t do so without notice…? I’m sure that you can understand that this entire situation has been very distressing for her… and that currently her state of mind is… not the best.”

Jack nodded slowly. Yes, he could very well understand that; and besides, he wasn’t sure that he could see her straight away – it was all so much to absorb.

“In the meantime, you have a trunk full of belongings and some clothes at the St. Kilda address which your wife felt you might wish to have with you… If you do, I can arrange for them to be brought to you, here…”

Another mystery explained. When it had been decided that Jack would need to stay with his parents for the time being, his father and brother-in-law had gone to his boarding house to clear out his room. In fact, there had been little to collect, and when they had questioned his landlady she had said that Jack had told her he was leaving soon, but had paid her for a month up-front, then left with a trunk that had seemed to be rather full, if the way he was struggling to carry it was any indication. She had not actually seen him leave as someone was moving in across the road, and there were people and vehicles everywhere.

The story had seemed rather odd to Jack, but he could only suppose that he had found somewhere else to board, perhaps closer to City South, and that he had made arrangements to move there, in a hurry, without notifying anyone he knew. By now he had given up on seeing his prized belongings again – his books, personal papers, best clothing – and now he was relieved that they were currently under Miss Fi–, correction, *Phryne’s* care.

“I…” What *was* he going to do about them? “Perhaps I could arrange to see her, and… collect some things at the same time... I just… need some time…”

Felix nodded his understanding, and departed soon after, having offered to give Rosie a lift in his car – Jack was in no mood to talk to anyone after the revelations of that evening.


	7. Chapter 7

It was funny, Jack reflected, as he stood – well, actually, balanced on his crutches – in Phryne’s parlour, three nights later, Rosie had not come to visit him since that night. Well… funny, or a little sad that she had abandoned her attentions to him the moment it became clear that he now belonged to someone else.

It had been so strange, coming here, to what was, effectively, his own house. Mr Butler had been the epitome of polite and friendly service, as always, and Miss Williams had smiled at him so kindly, when she had just come downstairs, and hoped that he was feeling much better. Yes, he was feeling better by the day, and he had made a point of telling her that he had only just learned of her engagement to his (probably former) constable, and congratulating her for what must be the second time.

She was now waiting at the foot of the stairs, and Jack knew the moment that her mistress began to descend, as he watched the girl’s face.

Dot’s expression changed again as Phryne stopped on the landing and pressed herself back against the wall, with her eyes closed. God, she couldn’t do this… How could she do this?

Although his parents had sat down when they had arrived, Jack had not. Getting up from a chair was awkward, and although he was sure that Miss – Phryne – would never expect him to stand when she entered the room, he was still a gentleman, and he was damned if he wouldn’t be standing *for his wife* when they met under these circumstances.

They had already been here for five minutes, and although his arms ached, he would continue to stand until she was ready; and if she decided not to come at all, then he would understand.

As Dot watched, Phryne pushed herself away from the wall with a deep breath. Jack was here to see her, and she would not be a coward; she loved him, and he had loved her – surely he could learn to do so again?

She had never been so nervous to enter her own parlour, but Dot gave her an encouraging smile as she passed, and Phryne lifted her chin, and tried to claw back a little of her usual poise.

Jack watched her as she came into the room. She was beautiful, as always, but she looked drawn, and it was almost as though she were in mourning; aside from her signature red pout, everything was black – her shoes, stockings, jet earrings, and even the beaded dress.

“Hello Jack…”

It was soft, and unsure, and he made a concentrated effort to reply with her first name. “Phryne…”

That seemed to please her, and she smiled shakily, before suddenly coming to her senses. “Oh, Jack, please sit! You must be… It must be very tiring…”

She moved towards him as if to help him, but he put up his good hand to stop her. “I’m alright!” It was a little harsh, and he chided himself; he knew that since this had happened to him he’d been as short-tempered as he had when he had returned from the war. He deflected, “I don’t believe you’ve met my parents…”

He introduced them, and then they all sat; his parents in the chairs that he recognised as belonging here, Phryne on a dainty one that he had not seen before, and himself next to her, in an armchair that he was positive she had had brought here specifically for his comfort tonight – which was kind and caring of her, but annoyed him a little nonetheless, although he could not say why; the most ridiculous things made him cross at the moment.

Dot poured tea, and passed around biscuits, and then retreated through the dining room; and Phryne began to immediately twist her ring.

Jack looked at it enquiringly. “May I see it?”

She made to twist it off, and he shook his head, laying his right arm across the back of his armrest, palm up, so that she could place her hand in his. He was still not able to grip anything, but when his hand was relaxed his fingers would curl, and he let them do so around hers, as he leaned across to look down at the ring. “It’s…”

He wasn’t sure that he had words to describe what it was. Positively decadent? It would have cost a fortune; she must have paid for her own wedding band, for he doubted that he could have bought it if he had saved for his entire life. “It’s as beautiful as the wearer…”

She pressed her lips together in an expression that said ‘Awww, thank you’ and Jack’s mother said “May I?”, and Phryne stood and moved to show it to both parents. She looked back at Jack. “We chose it together… When we saw it we both knew it was the one…”

One thing had been puzzling him, though, and he voiced it as she returned to her seat. “But no engagement ring?”

“No.” She gave a sort of an unsure grimace. “I…… I really can’t explain that to you, without explaining *everything*… and I was hoping… that you might – eventually – remember for yourself.”

“What if I don’t?”

She turned away from him, and he saw her swallow thickly.

He looked to his parents. “Leave us…” God, he really needed to try and stop barking at people. “please…” They both looked at him quickly, before looking at each other and getting up. “And close the door!... Please…”

He waited while Phryne composed herself enough to turn back to him, and actually look him in the eye.

“If you don’t…… I won’t love you any less… it is far too late for that… but if you don’t want to have a life with me, then… I will have to let you go, and find a way to move on…”

He sighed. “Perhaps that’s for the best…? I may not know you now, as well as I knew you a few weeks ago… but I think I know enough to be sure that you could not be happy with me…” She shook her head, and he continued. “Look at me… I will probably never be a police officer again – I certainly won’t be reinstated as a detective in this condition… What good will I be to you then?”

She looked at him pleadingly. “You are *so* much more to me than your job… and I’m not going to give up on you, Jack… I’m not going to abandon you just because this has happened…”

That touched him deeply, and looking into her huge, liquid eyes he did not doubt her sincerity for a moment.

“Please, Jack… You’re getting better all the time… You’re already so much better than when I saw you first… and the doctor’s coming down from Sydney… I’m sure he’ll be able to help you… *I* will help you, in any way I can… Give me a chance… Give *us* a chance… Please say you will…”

He took her hand in his good left one, and rubbed her fingers with his… Since when had he been able to say ‘no’ to Phryne Fisher?... ‘Never’ was the simple answer. He might have tried, but when she truly wanted something and would not back down, he had a tendency to capitulate. Still… “Phryne… What does ‘giving us a chance’ even mean? What am I supposed to do?”

She looked at him, searchingly, but with a little fear in her eyes. “I’ve been thinking… that perhaps… you could come here… *stay* here… at least for a while… to see how things work out…” She rushed on, before he could respond. “This *is* legally your house… and we are all here to help you… It must be a strain on your parents…”

That was true. Since the revelation of his marriage to Phryne, at least he had not had to be concerned that he was going to eat away at their retirement savings, but physically things were still difficult. Jack’s father was fit for his age, and Jack himself was very lean, but a dead weight to assist into the bath, nonetheless; and it wasn’t just the bath. Sitting down and getting up again were still difficult with his rigid leg brace, and crutches, and a hand that just wouldn’t grip.

Jack was becoming agitated just thinking about it; it was a bloody nightmare. He couldn’t even carry a glass of water. His food had to be cut up for him like a small child. Even taking a piss was a long and hazardous process, and the crutches had a tendency to slip out from his arms whilst he was fumbling, one-handed, with his pants. He needed help to fit his leg brace, to shave, to dress, to go up and down steps. Essentially, someone always had to be within hearing distance of him, just in case.

If he stayed with his parents, they would feel that they must help him themselves; they wouldn’t think of having help to look after their own son, and he knew, that after only a few days, it had already been draining for them to be at his beck and call… Having said all that, it was *not* what he wanted for Phryne Fisher either.

Phryne took in the cloudy expression on his face, and she knew the turmoil that he must be facing. “Jack… If you will agree… Here you can get anything and everything that you need… I won’t be alone – there’s Mr Butler and Dot and Jane, Bert and Cec…” Jack grimaced, “but if you don’t feel comfortable with that you can have a nurse to help you… or even your own man, a valet… but you are not a *burden* to be dealt with… I love you and I hope that we can get through this together… And if it doesn’t work out, if you’re not happy here, then you can leave, whenever you like…

He considered that. It probably wouldn’t hurt to try... She seemed to *want* him here, and being twice-divorced within the space of two years was a prospect that didn’t bear thinking about… And it was not as though he didn’t care about her, because he did, if the stabs of jealousy, and his increased heart-rate whenever she was in danger, were anything to go by. He just didn’t know if he could find a way back to the feelings that had shone through in the photograph… But surely they must be in there somewhere; so yes, he would try…

“On one condition.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows in amusement, but he was perfectly serious.

“For as long as I am… like this,” he waved his left hand to indicate his right arm and his leg brace, “I shall expect you to… find your ‘pleasures’ elsewhere.”

She gave a surprised laugh. “Jack! I have no intention of–“ but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.

“No. If you are committed to having a cripple for a husband, I do not want you to consider yourself beholden to your marriage vows… And I do not wish to speak of it any further.”

His pursed lips and stern expression indicated to Phryne that it was pointless to argue, and she decided that that particular line of discussion was best left for another day. So, practicalities… “How are you currently feeling about stairs?”

“Well, if you’re talking about a *flight* of stairs, that is an obstacle which I have not yet had to face… but I have managed a few steps, with help.”

Phryne nodded, thoughtfully. “I suppose that my question, really, is whether you would prefer an upstairs bedroom, with access to a large, easily navigable bathroom, or a downstairs bedroom, where things might be a little more awkward.”

Jack considered, for a long moment. Right now he couldn’t think of anything worse than having to take his heavy body up a staircase at the end of the day, when he still felt so tired. However… “It’s something I’m going to have to get used to, sooner or later, so I suppose that I can try upstairs…”

“That’s the spirit!” Phryne was looking much more cheerful now, and it was her turn to squeeze his fingers, before she suddenly remembered something.

“Jack… how would you feel about stairs… right now?”

“Right now?... Uh…”

He was gripped with a sudden fear, but she was looking at him hopefully, and he really didn’t know how to say ‘no’, especially when she went on, “There’s something that I want to show you, and I think – I *hope* – that it will make you feel a little more comfortable about… being here.”

When they went out into the entry hall, Jack shooed his parents back into the parlour, from their places at the dining table, and when Mr Butler came out to investigate, Phryne asked “Mr Butler, would you mind assisting the Inspector upstairs?”

Jack’s parents gaped, but the look on his face brooked no arguments, and they resumed their seats, as Phryne went to ask Dot for a fresh pot of tea – she did not think Jack was in the mood to appreciate any attempt by her to help him, as he would probably be too concerned of falling and injuring them both.

The first time Phryne heard Jack swear she went over and closed the parlour doors; as much as he might pretend otherwise, he was a rather sensitive man, and she did not think he would be enjoying displaying such weakness in front of others, even his family.

Jack’s mother looked at Phryne carefully. “He’s been like that… for the past few days...” She hesitated. “I haven’t heard him swear so much since he first came home from the trenches… and he’s liable to jump down your throat at the slightest provocation…”

Phryne nodded in understanding. “This must all be very confusing and shocking for him, and especially as he’s also dealing with debilitating physical injury… I’ve seen brain trauma do strange things to men… during the war…”

“Oh? You were a nurse?”

“Ambulance corps.”

Both parents seemed to sigh in relief. “I’m glad to hear that,” his mother went on, “as I fear that you are in for an uphill battle…” Phryne acknowledged that with a nod, and Mrs Robinson changed the subject. “Your solicitor brought some photographs when he came by the other evening…” Her voice hitched a little as she spoke, “We had no idea…”

Phryne tried desperately to halt the tears pricking at her eyes. “I’m so sorry… This is all my fault… It was only supposed to be a bit of fun…”

She bit down hard on her lip, and Jack’s father rose and came to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m sure that it was about time that our Jack had a bit of fun… and we might not have known about you, but, in hindsight, we had all seen *the effect* of you, in his demeanour…” He looked to his wife, and she nodded, with a rather tremulous smile. “So, let’s put all that behind us, and we’ll all do what we can for him…”

Phryne let out a deep, relieved breath, sniffed in a most unladylike manner, and wiped hastily at her mutinous eyes. Just then, Mr Butler knocked, and Phryne escaped the parlour, only to have Jack view her suspiciously, as he leaned against the upstairs balustrade. She brushed him off with a quick ‘I’m alright’ wave of her hand, as she assessed him in turn. He looked exhausted, his jacket was hanging over the rail, his sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and she could smell the warmth emanating from him – an arduous climb, then. Best to get moving before he started to sway any more.

She directed him to the end of the hall, to the re-decorated rooms that had not been opened since she had rushed up to Yallourn.

She hesitated on the threshold, turning to him just after she had turned the door handle. “This was supposed to be a surprise… for you… when you came home, to me… Your own piece of the house… to entertain in, or just to retreat…”

She swung open the door, and flicked the light-switch, and Jack gaped, as he stood in the doorway. She encouraged him inside, pointing out the various features of the room – the *two* deep leather settees with two matching armchairs and foot stool, the occasional tables, the Persian rug, the paintings, and the knick-knacks – then held up a key and pointed to the internal door. “And *this* is *your* key, and the only other copy will be in the safe…”

She turned it in the lock and opened the door, again flicking the light switch. Two walls were lined with empty glass-fronted bookcases, and there was another Persian rug on the floor. The centre of the room was largely occupied by a leather-topped mahogany desk – of the type he had seen in legal offices – facing the window, a deep-buttoned chair which could be turned either toward the desk or toward the fireplace, and another, smaller, chair which could be moved to a space against the wall when not in use.

“Phryne…” This time he had no trouble using her first name.

She was watching him with trepidation, and she asked gently, “What do you think?”

What did he think? “I……” He really had no words…

She reached out and touched his arm, pleadingly, and spoke, with watery eyes, “At least tell me whether you can see yourself here…”

See himself here? Although much of it served a practical purpose, everything about the two rooms was meant for his ease and comfort, and it was all so *him*. How had she come to know him so well? How had she managed to push through the barriers he had built so long ago? He didn’t know, but if he was going to give them a chance, then he would surely find out.

“Phryne, its…” He was standing in the internal doorway, and he swept his eyes through both rooms again, before looking at her with utmost sincerity. “I could not have done better myself… I can’t believe… that you did this… for me…”

His voice broke, and she lost her battle. As she took the first, shuddery gasp, he threw down his left crutch, and used that arm to pull her close against him, where he felt her tears on the skin above his collar, and her hot breath seeping through his shirt in the ‘V’ of his waistcoat. It would, no doubt, be ruined by her lipstick and her dark eye makeup, but he didn’t care one iota, and he let his own tears track down his face and into her silky hair.

Yes, he did care very much for this beautiful, unconventional woman, even if much of their past history involved her exasperating him beyond belief. God, he wished that none of this had happened, but he would do everything he could to could to move past his injuries, and if it simply weren’t possible, then he would just have to work every day to find his way back to her, and make her happy.

Phryne pushed gently out of his hold, and rubbed at her eyes. “Sorry…”

He brought his own fingers up to his face and wiped away the last traces of moisture. “You have nothing to be sorry for…”

She retrieved his crutch from the floor, but then asked if he would like to sit down. Looking down at the inviting leather he decided that if he sat, he would not want to get up again tonight, so they left the room, but as they made their way back down the hallway, she suddenly said “Oh, your things are in this room here…”

She took him into the bedroom and he was relieved to see his trunk there, and beside it a pile of socks and undergarments of the type that were amongst his belongings in the paper bag. His best navy suit and dinner suit were hanging from the wardrobe cornice, accompanied by their freshly laundered shirts.

Phryne handed him the trunk key. “Here, you gave me the key, but I haven’t opened the trunk at all since I brought it home…”

That surprised him, but as he himself was not absolutely sure of the contents, he was glad that she had respected his privacy.

She asked if he wanted her to leave, but he shook his head, and she lifted the trunk lid so that he did not have to.

Hmmm. Assorted clothes… his cufflinks… his lockbox (thank God it wasn’t in some stranger’s hands)… shoes… shaving kit… books… sheet music…

“Do you want to take anything with you, tonight?”

No, there was little point if he would be coming back here, and he had managed with what he had so far, so she promised to have Mr B see to his clothes in the morning, and they headed towards the stairs.

When they reached them, Jack peered down the stairwell with a grimace; he really was exhausted, having only used the crutches intermittently up until now, and then there was the trek that he had taken up the stairs. Now, the trip down looked about as daunting as scaling the cliffs at Rye on crutches, and he turned to Phryne with the first real smile he felt he had smiled since the incident. “Perhaps I could stay here tonight?”

She laughed. “Jack, you are most welcome to stay tonight, I know that you must be very tired… But even though I’ve given this a lot of thought, I haven’t actually prepared for you, in case… you decided that you didn’t want to be here…”

He felt terribly guilty at that, and opened his mouth to say that he would go, but she cut him off before he could do so.

“So, you might just have to put up with my things until we get something sorted out.”

As she directed him towards her bedroom, he realised that she meant to put him there, and then he felt even more wretched. “No, Phryne, I don’t want to put you out.”

However, she would not take no for an answer, as he would need to be close to the bathroom that had the most space to manoeuvre, and soon she was gently pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed, which he did, before deciding he would go one step further.

He groaned in relief as he fell back against the quilt. His whole body (or what he could feel of it) was aching, and her bed was so soft… If he closed his eyes he would probably fall asleep just like this, with his legs still hanging over the edge.

“May I?” She indicated his brace with a tap of her finger, and he nodded, allowing her to lean down and unbuckle it, and pull it gently away from his leg – not that his leg knew the difference. He leaned up on his elbows then, and she pulled him back to a sitting position, before saying “Here–” and slipping her arm behind him without further warning. He felt her warmth and breathed in her perfume as she helped him to twist sideways and shimmy up the bed, so that he was leaning against the headboard, and he could have sworn that her cheeks had reddened slightly; probably just the effort.

She turned away from him, and went over to a dresser in the corner, returning with a decanter and a tumbler and a cheeky smile. “A reward for your efforts with the stairs! It’s ‘Haig Gold Label’ – perhaps not the very finest of Scotch whiskeys, but certainly not a bad drop…” She poured and passed him the tumbler as she went on. “I’ll go and find Mr B to help you for tonight… You know that he never worked for a ‘spinster’ before me, don’t you? I think he’s actually rather looking forward to having a gentleman about the house…”

Jack smirked at her. “I have never claimed to be a *gentleman*, Miss Fisher…”

She smirked back. “And don’t I know it, Inspector?” Her tone and her eyes made it clear that she was alluding to their intimacy, of which he currently had no knowledge, and could only guess, and he felt his own cheeks reddening.

She grinned at him openly, before leaning down quickly and kissing the crown of his head. Then her smile turned gentle, and as she turned to leave the room she said “Jack… I’m so glad that you decided to stay…”

As she reached the door he called out to her. “Phryne!... I… I’m very sorry about what happened at the hospital… with Rosie… and more particularly with me–”

She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. “Jack, there is nothing to be sorry for… I realise that all of this must be very trying for you… please don’t dwell on it… And as for Rosie and I… Well, you are bound to either remember or find out sooner or later, and when you do you will understand.”

He nodded, and she was about to turn away again when he spoke. “There *is* something that I have remembered…”

She looked at him, curiously.

“Lin, and his communist bride.”

She laughed in acknowledgement of that. “Yes, and I can tell you, as you have never asked, although probably for good reason,” she was smiling knowingly at him, and he could only confirm her suspicion of his jealousy with a sheepish smile, “that the last time I saw Lin and Camellia, only a month or so ago, they seemed very happy in their arrangement… *and*, although nothing was said, I suspect that a baby Lin is on its way.”

Jack’s smile widened into a grin. Could he help it if he was exceptionally pleased that Lin was out of the picture?

Phryne rolled her eyes and grinned back at him. “Jack, you are utterly transparent!... But the very fact that you are jealous is a good sign…”

“Well… there is something else… I assume that we’ve moved on from dinner with only one candle lit?” He looked a little sheepish again as she laughed.

“As a matter of fact, we *have* graduated to a full complement of candles. However,” she looked at him pointedly, “the only time we’ve eaten with all of the candles lit – and *no* other light source – was on our wedding night!”

She was laughing at him again, and he couldn’t help pouting, cheekily. “Really? Am I that prudish?”

That resulted in a loud guffaw from her, before she suddenly came to her senses. “Oh, your poor parents are probably wondering what on earth’s going on! I’d better go and tell them that they’re leaving without you!” and she disappeared, leaving him to sip his whisky and try not to nod off.

The conversation had him wondering, though, if he had not been able to have a (wholly) candlelit dinner with her, how had they come to be lovers? Because surely they had; Phryne being Phryne he could not imagine why she had married him at all, let alone agreeing to spend her life with a man before ‘testing’ him out. Just like checking a horse’s hooves and teeth before buying, she would want to know that she was making a sound investment for her future…

Speaking of horses (although not out loud, of course), there was something there in his mind itching to get out…

As he put his tumbler onto the nightstand, it clinked against the decanter, and suddenly it was there.

‘Stallions…’

Why were they toasting to stallions?

…

Suddenly it came flooding back.

Saddles and tack and riding boots… Miss Fisher trying to extract gossip from a weary shop assistant… Oh… ‘a hot-blooded stallion clamped between your thighs…’

He chuckled as he remembered the shock on the assistant’s face as he began to choke.

She had been his wife… but *not* his wife, he was sure of it… So, a pretence of some sort, for a case… And although he had no idea when this had happened, it felt *recent* in a way that the other most recent events that he could remember did not.

He closed his eyes and tried to go back to the memory of the two of them drinking whisky at a small table, but it just wouldn’t come, and at that moment he heard Mr Butler enter the room.

Once he had been assisted to shower and dress in his own pyjamas – and had even been tucked into bed by the butler – Jack fell swiftly to sleep, oddly comforted by the scent lingering in the bedding that was not just perfume, but the unique essence of Phryne.

He woke to find her creeping about the room in her night-things, doing her best to open drawers with as little noise as possible; and realised that it was, in fact, morning. So, he told her that she may as well open the curtains so that she could see what she was doing.

She apologised for waking him, but he waved that away; he had woken of his own accord, having slept deeply and peacefully in her bed, and she laughed, telling him that he had, indeed, been sleeping like a baby when she had retrieved her pyjamas the night before.

She disappeared briefly, in order to yell down the stairwell to Mr Butler that Jack was awake, and that breakfast would be most welcome, before matter-of-factly assisting him to hop to and from the toilet and basin. When Mr B appeared with a loaded tray, Jack realised that they were both expecting him to eat in bed, which seemed appropriate in hospital, but perhaps not as a houseguest.

Phryne scoffed “Don’t be ridiculous, Jack… You’re not a guest! You can do what you like! Besides… I wondered whether you would mind if I found a chair and had my breakfast in here too…”

As much as it was all very strange to him, to be here with her like this, he mustered his courage and asked whether she might prefer to sit on the bed with him instead. After all, being close to Miss Fisher had previously been beyond the realm of dreams, but now it was his reality, and there was little point in being shy and squandering his opportunities to become used to it.

Her girlish clap of delight had him hauling himself over so that she could climb up beside him. Yes, it was very odd, indeed, having her almost shoulder-to-shoulder, but he had to admit that as much as it also seemed quite nice, he was very glad that she chose to stay above the covers.

Soon enough, though, they settled into their usual good-natured bickering, as they argued over the latest news in the morning’s ‘Argus’. By the time Mr Butler returned to retrieve their dishes Jack was feeling far more comfortable, and it wasn’t too hard for him to imagine that a time may arrive in the future when breakfasting in bed with Phryne might be the most natural thing in the world.


	8. Chapter 8

Jack gazed down at his wife in astonishment at his own actions, and her upturned face reflected his surprise, but was also suffused with hope.

It had been several weeks since Jack had taken up residence in his new home, and the progress that he had made in that time seemed little short of a miracle to him.

The doctor that Phryne had summoned from Sydney had not been able to ‘cure’ Jack, but he had certainly made things a great deal clearer for him; and although the man could not guarantee a full recovery, his prognosis was a good one, if Jack were willing to put in the effort to help himself.

The doctor believed that a healthy body promoted a healthy mind, and vice versa, and that a little work must be done every day on each of them. It had been daunting – the physical and mental exercises draining him each day – but Jack had known that he had every reason to do whatever was necessary.

He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life depending on others.

He did hope to return to the Constabulary, even if in some diminished capacity.

He wanted to feel the grains of sand crunching under his toes as he walked along the shore. To feel the wind ruffling his hair as he swept down a hill on his bicycle. To be able to sweep his beautiful wife off her feet and into his arms…

Yes.

Like so many pieces of a jigsaw tipped from its box, his mind was slowing fitting things together into a picture – he just didn’t know what that picture was. And just like a jigsaw, there were days when things just fell together, and he could hardly keep up with the progress, and on others he would turn things over and around for hours and make no headway. He only hoped that when the pieces of his puzzle were torn apart, none of them had been lost.

It often played on his mind; their current situation was not the life for such a free-spirited creature, and he felt it was only a matter of time before he either crushed her, or she flew away.

But in the meantime, Phryne Fisher was nothing if not a trooper.

She never seemed to tire of driving him to the public baths on Batman Avenue, so that he could spend an hour walking up and down in the heated water. She had had Bert and Cec rig up a stand for his bicycle, so that he could sit and pedal slowly, in privacy, on the back verandah. She would sit patiently beside him, talking and pulling at the tiniest threads of his memories to unravel great swathes of tangled impressions. She would assist him with his exercises, ignore his curses, and, in spite of what she herself might be feeling, encourage him when his spirits were low.

And their persistence had been rewarded.

He still needed one crutch to walk any distance, but his right leg was vastly improved, the feeling having returned to a great extent. The partial numbness and accompanying ‘heaviness’ that lingered did not prevent him from standing, or making his way carefully about a room. With his right hand he was now able to squeeze a tennis ball hard enough to wrinkle its cloth covering, and he was once again able to write (although he did not concur with Phryne’s tongue-in-cheek assessment that his spidery script had appeared just as messy before the incident!)

Mentally, he had always considered himself strong – a by-product of his time serving King and country across the sea – but he was still having a little trouble controlling his temper. To her credit Phryne took it in her stride, not making comment on the occasions when his fist met the tabletop, or the door, or whatever other inanimate object was in reach; and in those first few days at 221B, when he had let fly with a particularly ripe string of profanity, she had simply raised an eyebrow and laughingly repeated it back to him in French, then Russian, and finally in the broad accent of her Collingwood childhood, to which he had not been able to help responding with a sheepish grin.

Emotionally he was finding that with every reclaimed memory he felt surer of himself and his place in the lives of those around him, and he could now say that his feelings for Phryne were well known to him, but he was, as yet, unable to cement their bond in any meaningful manner.

In this new life that he and Phryne led together, a certain physical intimacy had been borne out of necessity, but as his memory slotted back together it had been joined by a sort of remembered intimacy, that he knew had grown between them through all of the events that had preceded his accident.

However, the night of his wedding and that before it still eluded him, and he had been unable to reconcile the desire that often now awakened in Phryne’s company with the knowledge that the sexual element of their relationship had been all too brief. It left him feeling almost shy in her presence at those times; and feeling, on the one hand, that he should desperately like to kiss her to fulfil some carnal need, but on the other hand that he could not, as whatever that thing was, that had caused him to cross that line that night in Geelong, was now missing.

Of course she had found tangible ways to let him know how she felt about him – a kiss to his cheek, a held hand, a soothing caress – and he was not above reciprocating those at times, but she had never pushed him for anything more than what he was comfortable to give.

He knew, though, that it upset her; and he still worried that, ultimately, he would not be able to be the kind of husband that he must be for their relationship to endure – a man who not attempt to hold her back in any way, would follow her to the ends of the earth if need be, and of course fulfil her physical needs.

Returning from a luncheon with Mrs Stanley they had stepped into the house, and it being a particularly lovely Spring day, Phryne had left the front door open. As she had turned to hook her hat onto the hallstand, Jack had watched a tiny bird fly in under the verandah, hop jauntily across the tiled stoop, and twitter cheerily, before disappearing with a flutter.

“Little bird…”

Phryne had turned abruptly towards him, and he had instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist, but then surprised them both by tugging her closer, which was how he had found himself in his current position.

His crutch clattered to the floor as he relinquished it in order to stand firmly on both feet and pull her fully into his embrace.

“Phryne……”

His voice was husky with emotion as his fingers traced ever-so-gently across her cheekbone, and he bent forward to press his face into hers and breathe her in.

Phryne’s heart was pounding, and she couldn’t help the tears that sprang to her eyes, even as a sound somewhere between a laugh and relieved sigh left her lips.

Time seemed to stand still as Jack pulled back slightly, and a myriad of thoughts and emotions seemed to pass in his eyes. He didn’t need to speak for her to know that this was the moment that she had been waiting for.

She had had plenty of time to reflect on her own life and her own behaviour in these last weeks. She knew that she had been selfish at times – that she had had her fun and left wounded hearts in her wake – but she had never made anyone any promises, and she did not regret her actions. Her life was hers to live as she chose, and without reference to any other person if she so chose; which she had certainly done before she had come to Melbourne, and in some measure since.

Actual enduring love, and not just some girlish crush or delightful fling, had been something that she had never really believed in. She believed that people fell in lust, or the type of naïve love that Hugh and Dot shared, but that, either way, these things simply led to a life of companionship, at best. Even with Lin, who she had certainly come to care for as more than a bed-partner, she had always been aware that his feelings for her outweighed hers for him; but she had always been confident that he would move on and she would become nothing more than a happy memory.

Jack was utterly different, though. The true nature of his feelings for her had become all too apparent after the ‘Gertie incident’, and it was evident to her that not only could he not just move on with his life as if she’d never been a part of it, but that *she* didn’t want him to. At the time she had refused to acknowledge that this just be an indication that she returned his feelings; but for some time before Geelong she had been aware that she was deluding herself, and that living a life in which Jack was no longer a participant was an alien and unwelcome concept.

Still, when she had begged Jack to take that step and ask for her hand, and when she’d stood in the Registry Office and legally bound herself to him, she had still not understood the true nature of her love for him. She had known that she lusted after him fiercely; that she would lay down her life for his without hesitation; that his very presence made everything they did together just that bit better.

Now she understood; those things were all quite true, but there was so much more to what they shared.

Love was watching him struggle, and stopping herself from jumping up to fuss; instead waiting to assist him only if he asked. It was the triumph that they had shared when he had suddenly found that he could lace his fingers through hers and actually hold her hand. It was gritting her teeth and willing herself not to react when he snapped at her for no good reason, and waving off his apologies and telling him that she knew he hadn’t meant it.

Intimacy was kneeling beside him on the bed, manipulating the joints of his uncooperative leg, just as the doctor had shown her, and massaging the lean muscles until her hands shook from her efforts. It was ever-so-carefully shaving him on Mr Butler’s day off, holding his skin taut as his breath ghosted across her skin, as he trusted her as he could not yet trust in his own shaky grip. It was sitting on a stool by the bath, lathering shampoo through his hair, not because he was incapable of now doing it for himself, but just because the action of her fingers on his scalp relaxed him after a trying day.

The idea that a time may come when all of these things were nothing but hollow memories had been enough to tear her breath away and leave her in physical pain.

Now, as she returned Jack’s intense gaze, she knew that this would never become their reality. They had fought together, and won; and whatever challenges may come their way, they could do it again.

After an eternity had passed in the span of merely seconds, Jack spoke.

“I must be the luckiest man in the world…”

Phryne’s eyes narrowed in question, and Jack’s thumb brushed her cheek once more.

“Well… How many men get to fall desperately in love with the same woman twice?”

She released the breath that she didn’t know she had been holding, and the liquid welled in her eyes, even as Jack’s lips found hers for what seemed a second ‘first kiss’.

Everything else was forgotten as she clung to Jack, and all the grief and longing of the last weeks was swept away by their mouths and their hands and the press of their bodies.

The sound of voices out on the street corner finally roused them, but Phryne found that she really didn’t care how long they had been oblivious to their surroundings and who might have seen them – no doubt Mr B had come to greet them at some point, and made a stealthy departure.

It was her turn to put a hand to Jack’s face, and she traced her thumb across his lips before claiming them again briefly but hungrily.

“Jack…… My darling husband…” She pressed up onto her toes and spoke against his mouth, “Make love to me…”

He kissed her once more, deeply; before obeying her gentle pull towards the stairs, and the final reclamation of his married life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a short chapter to end, but I hope that you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


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